Walking Alone: An Emberverse Fanfiction
by Chuckie Anelli
Summary: A fanfiction based on the series of books based in the Emberverse by S.M. Stirling
1. Chapter 1

**Walking Alone: An Emberverse Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor claim to own any of the characters, settings or plot of the S.M. Stirling story: Dies the fire. This story is not for profit, merely for fun and entertainment because I really like the book.

**Chapter 1:**

Though it was cooler in Seattle than it would be back home in L.A. in March, I didn't mind so much. Still, for a Californian, 50 degrees was considered freezing and I was sitting on the porch so I zipped up my heavy coat as I dialed the phone. I didn't want to run up grandpa's phone bill so I bought the calling card before I came out to visit him. Being in Seattle at this time of year was generally strange anyway; I should've been in school but it was gramps eightieth birthday coming up and plus I'd been working so hard in school; mom and dad figured that I could use the time off.

Besides, I loved gramps and I loved visiting him though why he preferred being out in the sticks was beyond me. He always said the forest reminded him of growing up which was why he liked it. I was a city kid myself but I could appreciate a little nature every now and then. Additionally, grandpa taught me stuff like fishing and camping which I found pretty cool. Still, if I had my druthers, I'd rather be home watching anime or at the mall or especially with my girlfriend Vanessa.

The phone rang three times before Mr. Sanchez picked it up. "Hello?" he answered with his burly voice that matched his frame. Even if I'd never met him, it wasn't hard to visualize a six foot two monster of a man with a bristling black beard and forearms the size of tank barrels. Fortunately for me, he liked me and was cool with me dating his daughter. He didn't even have a problem with the fact that I was black; to him, I was like the son he wished he had, totally unlike 'Nessa's older brother Patrick who was an all around asshole. If I _did_ have a problem with him, well I'd call in my grandpa to kick his ass. He _defined_ the term "tough old man."

"Hey Mr. Sanchez, it's me, Claude. May I speak with Vanessa please?" I asked as sweetly as you'd please.

"Claude! Sure, I'll go get her, hold on a sec." Mr. Sanchez said, his tone lightening up. I couldn't wait to speak with her; then again, I never could wait. She was the light of my sixteen year old life, she was living proof that the impossible could happen. Not only was she beautiful, one of the hottest girls in my school I thought (but I might be biased), she was a straight A student and a closet geek.

We were the unlikeliest pairing, she being the popular, beautiful smart girl and me with decent book smarts but I worked hard to keep my grades up. We planned to go to USC together when we graduated. Granted that was a whole year from now but still, we thought big. I admit that even though she really helped me keep my grades up, she was a bit of a distraction sometimes; it could be really hard to think around her while smelling her perfume and watching her toss her brown locks in that cute way that drove me crazy.

On top of all that, when I could summon the willpower to not spend every single minute of my free time with her, I still had to win at the World Kendo Championships to qualify to go to Japan to study with some actual masters. I'd been taking Kendo since I was twelve; the local YMCA offered classes and since I wasn't interested in normal sports such as football or basketball (much to my father's chagrin), I took up Kendo to focus my nervous energies. Since it involved something cool like swords, dad was all for it though it freaked out mom; mom's were like that though when it came to the risk of their kids getting hurt. When she argued against it though, when she saw my grades go up, I was easily able to make the argument that "Kendo gave me the self-discipline to focus," she couldn't argue with that. To everyone's surprise including mine, I was actually really good at it.

Though when I first started, I was too young to achieve 1st Dan, I excelled in every aspect at my level and when it came time, I blew the 1st Dan test away. Four years later, I was 3rd Dan and easily on my way to becoming fourth. If I had to take a guess as to why I was so skilled at it, I think it was because I was really into the Samurai culture and the code of Bushido. I had tons of books on the Samurai back home liberally mixed in with my comic books and Manga.

It seemed like an eternity but Vanessa finally answered the phone. "Hey Claude, how's Seattle treating you?" she asked with that sultry voice that she had that was so unlike the average sixteen year old girl. I felt my jeans tightening at the very thought of her. Then again at my age, even looking at the forest made me think about sex, thinking about Vanessa and what we'd do someday was a recipe for an instant hard on.

"Pretty good but it would be a lot better if you were here." I said coyly over the phone. _That _made her giggle and I chuckled too. "Nah, everything is fine up here. Hanging out with grandpa is always a good time and we've been doing a lot of stuff." I said.

"Cool. I thought you told me that your mom and dad were supposed to be flying in tonight?"

"Yeah, they should be in the air now actually. Grandpa and I are gonna pick them up at the airport and from there, we're going to take him out to his favorite restaurant as a surprise." I whispered the last part so that way grandpa couldn't hear. "I just wanted to hear your voice before we rolled out is all. I really miss you 'Nessa."

She was in the middle of saying "I miss you too" when there was a bright flash between my eyes that didn't quite blind me but made me see spots, then the phone suddenly cut out. "Hello?" I asked repeatedly as I shook and hit the cordless phone. "Damn, I thought for sure it was charged." I muttered. I got up and walked into the house and it was then that I noticed that the power was out as well.

"Claude, where you at boy?" Grandpa called from a back room.

"On the porch grandpa, the phone's out as well as the power." I called back.

"Well check the circuit breakers and see if you can get them going again. There should be a flashlight in the kitchen drawer."

"Okay" I replied and did my best not to trip in the darkness of the house. Since it was mid-March, the sun had gone down good and early and nights out in the forest were famous for being extremely dark since there was hardly any light pollution from the city. I found the flashlight but when I clicked it on, nothing happened which was very, very odd.

"Grandpa, the flashlight isn't working either." I called out. I got no verbal response from grandpa but one of his thoughtful grunts.

"Check and see if the neighbor's houses are out too grandson, willya? Meanwhile, there should be some candles and matches, see if you can get _those_ going." He said. Sure enough, there the candles were right next to the inoperative flashlight. I breathed a small sigh of relief when the flame caught the wick and illuminated the dark kitchen.

I made my way to the porch and surveyed the land. Grandpa owned a couple of acres of land; he'd bought them and the house after he retired from the Smith Wesson gun factory after working there for fifty years. He wanted to get away from L.A. and at his age, I couldn't blame him. "Too fast out here!" He would exclaim exasperated to my dad who was his son. Because it was sparse, his neighbors were in short supply but they _did _exist, all three of them.

I looked across the field to the Peterson's house and sure enough, their lights were out as well. I jogged the quarter mile over to their property and knocked on their door. I looked in the driveway and sure enough, their car was there which meant that they were most likely home. I heard some shuffling before the door opened and Mr. Peterson's tall, blonde frame greeted me. "Hello, Claude. It seems we're having some power outage huh? It's so bad, not even the generator works. Are you guys okay?"

"We're fine, thanks for asking. It's dark at our house as well. Grandpa wanted to see if it wasn't just limited to us, guess that confirms it."

Mr. Peterson nodded thoughtfully and then asked: Are your phones and flashlights out too? We have four flashlights and three phones and not a _single _one is working! That's really damned odd you know?" He said in his North Washington accent.

"Yeah, really odd." I repeated numbly as my mind began to wander. What he said didn't make sense; there was no way possible that all the power including phones and even flashlights could be out in two different places. After all, what were the odds? I thanked Mr. Peterson and trotted back to the house, my mind racing the whole time. There was no way that was possible unless….

Fear clenched my stomach and made my legs pump even harder. I covered the quarter mile in Olympic level time and threw open the door. It was only when I was inside that I recovered my breath. The flash before my eyes, the sudden loss of power in _everything _electrical had to mean EMP. We covered the subject in physics; EMP was usually the result of a nuclear detonation in the upper atmosphere. But if that were the case, why hadn't I seen or felt a blast? Why wasn't I dying of radiation poisoning. On a whim, I checked my watch and sure enough, it had stopped working as well. The hands stopped at 6:15.

Panic spurred me on as I picked up the candle I laid on the porch and made my way to grandpa. When I tried to tell him about what I thought, he raised his hands. "Whoa, slow down son! Now say that again but this time slower so us old folks can understand." He said with a smirk on his face. That got me to calm down a little too. Grandpa always had a quiet strength about him that seemed to radiate outwards and reassure others. It never failed to do the trick and calm me down.

Taking his advice, I repeated what I said but this time slower and more calmly. Grandpa rubbed his chin thoughtfully, making the gray stubble rasp like sandpaper. He smiled and laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure it's nothing like that son, this is just some sort of…weather thing. Things will be back to normal in no time!" He said but I could see the doubt in his eyes.

"But what if it _isn't_?" I retorted. "Maybe we should take a look?"

He nodded at that and led the way to his car, an old VW Rabbit. Just as I feared, the engine wouldn't turn over. "Okay, this might be a problem." Grandpa said slowly after the fourth try. "Come on, we'll have to walk to 'Miller's General Store,' it's not too far from here. Maybe he has some news that we don't."

"Yeah, maybe the effect is localized to just around here." I agreed albeit a little shakily. He nodded and patted me on the shoulder.

"Just in case though…" He began and walked into the house. I followed him, picking up the candle from the porch. At first I found it odd that grandpa wouldn't pick up the candle but then I remembered that he knew the house like the back of his hand. It was I that was in danger of breaking my neck. He returned with a Coleman lantern and his .38 tucked into a holster on his right hip. When he saw my surprise he gave me one of those reassuring nods. "Like I said, for just in case. You never know right? You might want to get that stick you practice with." He said as he lowered his coat over his gun.

Nodding, I went to my room and retrieved my _bokken _that I'd brought with me. Just because I was on vacation didn't mean I could slack off on my Kendo training. I practiced for an hour a day, every day. If there was trouble, hopefully, I'd be able to handle myself. If anything else, the _bokken _was essentially a solid oak club in the shape of a katana blade and could do major damage, especially in the hands of somebody who knew how to use it. It was meant for practicing katas, not combat but it would do the job in a pinch.

My thoughts drifted toward my family and Vanessa as I came from my room. I hoped that I was right and it was merely a localized effect and it would merely blow over. I had this sinking feeling though that it wasn't. I met my grandpa on the porch. "Ready grandson?" he asked. I picked up the candle and nodded and off we went.

It never ceased to amaze me the kind of shape that grandpa was in. He barely broke a sweat as we walked. Meanwhile, I was glistening slightly and I thought I was in pretty good shape from Kendo. When grandpa said "Miller's General Store is not too far from here," he failed to say that it was four miles away from the house. "C'mon boy, keep up now!" Grandpa said in way of encouragement. I nodded, suppressing a groan. He'd been doing his Army exercises every day since the day he got out of the service and this is a veteran of World War Two and Korea.

Streetlights were few and far in between and as such, kept the surrounding area in minimal light. Without them, it was pitch black except for our lights making everything look eerie. The surrounding trees helped to swallow any of the ambient light the stars gave off. We could hear the assorted cries of the denizens of the forest. As many times as I'd been camping with grandpa, it never ceased to give me the willies. He on the other hand took it in stride like he did with just about everything else. I guess if I were an old black man living in rural Washington State, I'd probably have to take a lot of things in stride too.

Finally, we got to Miller's and much to our chagrin was greeted by more darkness. Not only was there darkness but also looters. Blackouts did strange things to people. I should know, I'd been through a couple of them back home; I saw how people thought they could get away with anything when the lights went out. Factor in _nothing _working at all and rural Washington was no exception to rule. I guess people are really the same all over.

Grandpa's hand automatically went to his revolver and pulled it out. "Stay here boy!" he commanded and pushed me behind him. He was never one to stand idly by and watch something horrible go down, not when he could do something to prevent it.

"Grandpa wait!" I yelled but he shot me a glance that said to do as I was told. He rushed into the fray, yelling at the looters to stop and waving his pistol at them. I was going to be damned if I was going to let my grandpa get hurt, so I ran and stood by his side, pointing my _bokken _at the crowd. I turned around to see Mr. Miller, the owner, sitting on the floor of the shop, holding his head.

He turned and looked at me with a combination of surprise and anger. "Boy, what the hell do you think you're doing? What did I tell you?" He growled at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur of movement. I turned to see one of the looters produce a pistol of his own and level it at us. "Look out!" grandpa shouted as he turned and pulled the trigger.

That was when things got really interesting, the gun didn't go off. Grandpa looked at it in surprise and pulled the trigger again and again, getting the same result each time. "What the hell?" he asked rhetorically. He was shocked out of his reverie when he heard a loud click coming from the looter with the big pistol. The guy shared the same expression with my grandpa: bewilderment. Grandpa showed me a little something about guns and I knew enough that six misfires on a revolver is next to impossible unless the gun was a total piece of crap. Being a retired Smith and Wesson employee, I knew damned well that grandpa's gun was fully operational.

There was something weird going on but I didn't have time to worry about that because we were getting rushed. I think grandpa was hoping the threat of force with his revolver would be enough to get the crowd to disperse. Now that Plan A was a botch, we were royally fucked because we didn't think far enough ahead for a Plan B. Fortunately for us, some of the crowd had lost interest and some had come to their sense and were even trying to urge the crowd to disperse. Since the phones were out as well as CBs, the cops would be a long time coming.

"_Stay back!" _I yelled as I waved my _bokken _to and fro. I started thinking about never seeing Vanessa again or my seventeenth birthday at the wrong time but I couldn't help it. Luckily, some of the ones who were about to rush thought twice. One of them however, the guy with the gun, got bold and came forward. My grandpa was unprepared for his attack and the two went tumbling to the dark ground. I think the man was unprepared for my grandpa's strength because he was struggling. Before I could help though, I had my own problems to worry about. One of them came forward and I rapped his right hand with the _bokken, _my strike not as controlled as normal. Still, it got the job done and retreated, holding his hurt member.

When I turned to my grandpa, I was in time to see the man produce a switchblade and stab it into my grandpa's ribs. "_No!" _I shouted and ran to them. The crowd seeing this was shocked into silence. Meanwhile, the man got up and waved the knife in my face. Even in my shock, I took note of his features. He was about six foot two, a whole six inches taller than my frame and had about a good fifty pounds on me with a dusting of black hair on his chin and steel gray eyes. He was wearing a red checkered flannel shirt and ripped up jeans.

"C'mon little man, you want some of this?" He hissed at me, waving the knife around like a viper. Anger welled up inside me but then somehow, I was able to tamp it down. Instead, I focused on my training; this was life and death now, not a tournament. The crowd looked on in amazement of the standoff. Some of them went down to help my grandpa. None of them wanted to mess with a guy with a switchblade though but then again, there was so much confusion, I couldn't exactly blame them.

I took a step back and exhaled slowly as I brought the _bokken _to waist height, the tip pointing at my enemy. This was the general basic stance which served as both defense and offense. He smiled as he lunged at me, making the move I thought he'd make. Simultaneously, I brought my wooden sword down on his head, a _men _strike just like I'd practiced thousands and thousands of times. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was amazed at how automatically the training just took over. I was going full out with the blow too, not pulling it like I usually would in training.

The sound of a wet crack pierced the sky and blood streamed out of the man's head as he slumped to the ground. His eyes lolled up and backward into his eye sockets. I stood there for a moment shaking, not feeling anything at all. The numbness permeated every part of my body. When the screams rang out, I was jolted back into reality. "He's dead!" somebody shouted. I turned on the rest of the crowd, waving my _bokken _at them.

"Stay back, _stay the fuck back!" _I shouted at the crowd, my voice hoarse with pent up emotion. Mercifully, the remainder of the crowd retreated. When they'd finally dispersed, my hands shook and dropped the _bokken._ I looked at the fallen man. At the sight of his split skull, I threw up violently. I couldn't believe I just killed somebody; my mind didn't want to believe it. It was _then _that I remembered my grandpa. "Grandpa!" I yelled and ran to him, my lips still covered with vomit.

I wiped my lips on the sleeve of my jacket and cradled my grandpa's head in my arms. One of the people who were by his side looked at me and shook his head. "I'm sorry son." He said. Grandpa's eyes stared up at the sky like they were fixed on a star. All the vitality that he had that I'd known my whole life was gone from his inert form. I couldn't stop the tears from falling from my eyes like a long awaited deluge. My body shook from the sobs; I thought I'd given up crying a few years ago but I didn't care and I didn't care who saw, my grandpa was dead.

I stayed there for what seemed like hours, holding him though it had only been a few minutes. The logical part of my mind managed to assert itself a little and made me ask why hadn't the cops shown up? When I mentioned as such to the man who was by my grandpa's side at the end and Mr. Miller who finally managed to get to his feet, they were silent. It was a stupid question, I knew that but I was too much in shock to be thinking completely clearly.

Emergency services would be not only swamped but useless since nothing electronic worked. That meant no phones, no radios, not even a squad car could do a quick drive by to check on things. Not only that, from what we saw, guns didn't work either which was the biggest advantage the cops had over any criminals. Now, _everybody _was on equal footing, it didn't take a genius to know what that meant. I didn't dare try to think of the implications of that, I didn't want to, not yet.

"Son, you should go home, there's nothing more you can do here." Mr. Miller said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I just can't leave him here!" I snapped at him, even though I didn't want to.

If Mr. Miller was offended, he didn't show it. On the contrary, his face showed infinite patience and understanding. "Claude, I've a bad feeling that things are going to get real dangerous, real soon around here. Boy your age shouldn't be out alone. You should go home where it's safe; your grandpappy would want you to be safe." He said. His white hair and tone of voice gave him the appearance of a sagely old man, sort of like Obi Wan Kenobi. Much as I hated to admit it, his logic did make sense. I frowned but nodded in agreement.

They both helped me to my feet which were mounted on unsteady legs and gave me a second to compose myself. Mr. Miller motioned to me to wait for a moment as he went back inside his store. He came back with a wheelbarrow and I nodded as I understood. The three of us lifted my grandpa's body into the wheelbarrow and made our way back up to his house.

Between carrying the body and burying him in the woods behind the house, we were all exhausted. Being the good men that they were, they offered to stay but I knew that they had their own families to attend to. I assured them that I'd be fine and locked myself in. I spent the rest of that night crying and feeling scared, hoping that whatever...this was would blow over and things would return to normal. Needless to say that I slept horribly that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: **

The next couple of days were a numb blur. I could barely muster enough strength to get off the couch to eat or go to the bathroom. Instead, I just stared at the inoperative TV. All my mind could process was the fact that grandpa was dead and I'd killed a man. I tried the words "It was self defense" on for size but they just wouldn't fit no matter how hard I tried to shoehorn them in. After awhile, I just gave up and resigned myself to not feeling anything because I'd started to get accustomed to it.

After day three, the remaining mental block shattered like an earthquake damaged dam and forced me to acknowledge the death of my parents. To be fair, it wasn't all at once; the logical part of my brain was at odds with the fact that I'd already lost more than anybody had a right to. Logic however won out in the end and made me realize that whatever shut down all electronics had to knock planes right out of the sky. There was a small sliver of hope that maybe they'd somehow survived; their plane was maybe able to make an emergency landing or if they did crash, possibly they managed to beat the odds and survive. That sliver wasn't enough to keep me from going into a fresh crying jag. Ironically, it was the only thing that got me off of the couch.

I was ready to die; I wanted to just chuck it all and be done with it. _Why shouldn't I? _I thought. My family was all dead and I was stuck in a house that was on the outskirts of chaos. It was funny that my comic collection crossed my mind but I figured even the most powerful, bravest of heroes would probably falter if they were in my shoes; I was just a sixteen year old kid, I had no chance. My only problem was, was my Southern Baptist upbringing even though I wasn't exactly practicing in spite of my mom's insistence. I just couldn't quite work up the nerve to off myself. As silly as it sounds, the thought of my immortal soul going to a hell I wasn't quite sure existed scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I wondered if God would grant me a pass just this once if I went through with it.

That very night, my decision was made for me. I'd just recovered from the all day crying fit and was shaking from the effort. I shuffled off to the kitchen for a bite to eat from one of the many cans of tuna grandpa had in his cabinet; he'd always had some sort of tuna fetish that I didn't quite get. It wasn't a t-bone steak but since I couldn't quite comprehend starving myself to death either, I figured it would do.

There was a strange shuffling at the back door. At first I dismissed it because wild animals constantly crossed grandpa's property and I'd learned a long time ago not to be scared of them. When the doorknob started to move, my mind crossed off raccoon from my mental checklist. I didn't think I could deal with another attacker; I didn't want to fight, only run away. I hoped that if I hid, whoever it was would take what they wanted to take and bail.

With a crash, the door exploded inward before I could get to a hiding place. I was faced with a massive, mountain of a man dressed in jeans, work-boots, blue flannel shirt and an orange vest. His entire raiment had obviously seen better days and it was obvious why. The look in his eyes flashed with naked desperation as they leveled themselves on me. In his gnarled, hairy hand was a tire iron that was caked with a dark red, crusty substance and hair I thought. "I-I don't want any trouble. Just get out of here!" I yelled, not trying to disguise the panic in my voice. I very suddenly wished I had my _bokken. _

He uttered no words but instead lunged at me, swinging the tire iron at me. I guess I wasn't as enamored with dying as I thought because I instinctively ducked under his swing. The tire iron put a hole in the wall where my head would've been. I stumbled back, trying to get distance from him more out of fear than any kind of strategy. The butt of my jeans slid across the Pergo floor and I desperately tried to scramble to my feet but I stumbled a couple of times. It was just enough time for my attacker to tackle me back to the ground.

Survival instinct kicked in evaporating any stray thoughts I might have had of dying. It was weird or maybe it wasn't but all I could think of was Vanessa and how I'd never see her again if this asshole killed me in my grandfather's house. I couldn't even be sure that she was alive but somehow I knew that she was. I had to see her again, I just had to!

The intruder was on top of me and he swung at me again. I managed to catch his wrist but he was much stronger than I was. "No, _no!" _I screamed out, trying to gain any kind of leverage I could, wriggling like a worm beneath him. His lips dripped with crazed spittle as he stared at me with those insane blue eyes that glittered like chips of ice. The five o'clock shadow framed by his massive dirty blonde mustache reeked of blood from the residue that I was able to see now that I was up close and personal with him. I could also tell that he hadn't bathed in a couple of days, probably since everything went out.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and mustache as he pressed the tire iron closer to my face. If I had to guess why he wouldn't listen to reason, it was probably because he was starving or maybe he'd seen his share of horrors like I had or maybe it was even because he was just mentally imbalanced. Whatever it was, I didn't care. Instead, I bit down on the wrist that held the tire iron with all of my might. I tasted the coppery blood in my mouth as he yelled and dropped the tire iron. This also served to let me slip loose of him.

Again I tried to scramble to my feet and this time I was successful. I managed two steps and got into the kitchen before I was tackled against the sink. I felt the wind get driven out of me as I made contact. Another instinctive move made me lash out with my foot at his balls. He grunted in surprise and stumbled back. My right hand felt something wooden, small and slightly cylindrical and I grasped it. Before I could move again, he turned me around and simultaneously hit me with a hard backhand that sent bluish-white stars shooting across my eyes. It was my turn to bleed as I hit the ground.

The world spun and my vision swam. He lunged for the tire iron still on the ground but somehow through the haze of half-consciousness, I managed to shove it away from his grasp. He growled like a wild animal as he jumped on me and landed yet another iron hard fist across my jaw. Pain shot through my face and I could feel my top lip begin to swell up. The blackness of unconsciousness began to retake me from the blow but I held onto Vanessa's face, her voice and the memory of her sweet scent that I longed to inhale once more. "Fuck you!" I half shouted, half slurred as my left hand grasped for his face. He tried to smack it away but as he was doing that, my right hand that held the object thrust out at him. I heard a sharp scream as the knife pierced his shoulder; I thought I was aiming for his throat but I really wasn't caring about accuracy at that point.

"_Die!" _I screamed over and over as fear and pain gave way to blind rage and adrenaline took over my body. It didn't give me superhuman strength or anything but the adrenaline was enough to jump on him and gain the advantage. My movements were more like an angry, drunken old man than a sleek killer as I stabbed at him with the knife. I felt the steak knife enter his throat. He gurgled and tried to cry out but it was choked off from the blood streaming from out of him.

Though he was done with the throat shot, I kept stabbing and stabbing until my arms felt like lead weights. When the adrenaline was finally completely spent and I couldn't move anymore, I fell off the prone body that still gurgled and twitched slightly. I kicked myself to a corner of the kitchen adjacent from the body, trying to breathe the fire out of my lungs as I stared at the corpse. This time the words "it was self defense" slipped on quite easily along with the words "fuck you asshole."

It's said that alcoholics had a moment of clarity after they'd hit rock bottom that allows them to change, that's exactly what I had. I knew what I had to do and it was clear as the night sky outside. I wasn't going to just wait to die. I had to see Vanessa once more; I had to know if she somehow weathered this….whatever this was. If anybody was left worth living or dying for, it was her. Absently, I looked at my watch and saw the hands still stuck at 6:15. She wasn't in a car or plane when this, this Change happened so I could discount her dying in some sort of accident. Her father was tough and could protect her so maybe she survived, she _had _to have.

Shuffling to the bathroom, I absent-mindedly flicked the light switch on and chuckled grimly to myself as I thought about how stupid the gesture was. I went back to the kitchen, retrieved a candle and lit it. The light it cast made the bathroom creepy looking. A sliver of light fell upon the dead intruder making the scene look like some terrible horror movie. I shuddered and ripped my eyes away from the corpse.

My tongue and finger probed the back of my mouth; I winced at the tender spot where the man had punched me. I felt a loose tooth in the very back of my mouth and it came out at the slightest touch. I spat it out along with a thin strand of blood into the sink. The tooth hit the porcelain with a small clatter that sounded loud in the overwhelming darkness.

In the grim candlelight, I looked at myself in the mirror. The right side of my face was giving birth to a huge bruise and my upper lip looked like somebody had injected a balloon into it. Fortunately the tap was still working; I guess whatever happened only happened to electronics and not basic mechanics. I turned on the water and washed the blood, his and mine, and two days of funk off my body. After I was finished, I stared into the mirror for a few minutes more, affirming to myself what I had to do then I stepped out.

First I got dressed in a clean set of underwear, jeans, my old beat-up Nirvana shirt and my hiking boots. Then I gathered the backpack that grandpa had bought me for our hiking and camping trips and loaded it up with what I thought I needed. I grabbed as much of the canned and dried food that I could carry without loading myself down, first aid kit as well as a change of clothes, especially socks; grandpa had forced it into my head that clean socks could mean the difference between amputation because of jungle rot or healthy feet. I also packed a few other odds and ends.

After filling my canteen and grandpa's which I slung onto the backpack, my eyes fell upon the book I was reading while I was on vacation, "The Book of Five Rings" by Miyamoto Musashi, one of my all time favorite heroes. Smiling, I threw that into my backpack too.

Mercifully, the backpack was relatively light considering how much I packed into it. At least it wasn't so heavy that I'd get tired out after thirty steps. I grabbed my _bokken_ and grandpa's hunting knife which I tucked into my belt. I chuckled at the memory of grandpa never letting me playing with it or even holding it. It was his pride and joy. After watching "First Blood," he fell in love with the knife and special ordered it from some catalogue. It had a compass, flint and steel and some nylon cord in the handle. I could see why he loved it so much.

As I began to leave, I turned on my heel and looked at my grandpa's house. There was something, somehow wrong with just leaving it like this. Inspiration hit me as my tongue probed the tender spot in my mouth. I sat my backpack down and went to the garage and retrieved a can of gasoline. Like a madman, I splashed the gas liberally all over the house. When I was finished I reached into my pocket and produced the Zippo, igniting a branch. I hesitated for a moment considering what I was about to do. When I thought of my grandpa and the body, the branch left my hand of its own volition through the window. Blossoms of flames shot through the windows and caused the walls to expand slightly. I would _not _let anybody else loot the house. _Now _there was nothing holding me there.

I made my way to Miller's General Store, slightly panting as I neared. Apprehension made me grip my _bokken _tightly. The store looked even worse now than the night of the mini-riot that took my grandpa's life. It was pitch black and I wished I had a flashlight...if they were working. I could've kicked myself in the butt when I realized that I _forgot _bring a lantern! It was probably lucky for me though that I didn't bring a light source; if there were ambushers at the store, they would've seen my light from a mile away.

Improvising, I took a branch and wrapped an errant towel around it, dipped the tip into a gas tank of one of the cars left abandoned there and lit it. With my torch, in my left hand and my _bokken _at the ready in my other, I crept inside the store. It was silent as death inside which I was actually hoping for.

A rancid smell greeted me which I assumed was rotted meat. I convinced myself that's all it was because the freezers were out. I didn't have the guts to check and make sure that's all it was. I hoped that Mr. Miller was safe at home and didn't get killed somewhere in his store. The torchlight made the mess strewn about look almost alive when I saw it out of the corners of my eyes.

Looters had cleaned the place out from top to bottom of anything that would provide some sort of sustenance, even the bubble gum. I honestly didn't expect anything less but I did allow myself some semblance of hope. As silly as it sounds, I would've killed for a Twinkie at that point. In absence of food or drink, I picked up the next best thing. The AAA pocket map lay in the rack next to the cash register. I picked it up and as an afterthought, checked the register. I nodded to myself when I found that it was empty. It didn't hurt to try.

I stepped back out into the dark night, the torch flickering in my hand as I studied the map. It was one-thousand miles and some change from Seattle to Los Angeles so I figured I'd better get cracking. I whispered a reaffirmed promise to myself, almost a plea as I started walking, "I'm coming home Vanessa, please be alive." I was going home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"Dammit!" I swore to myself and the woods as the rock flew three feet to the right of what I was trying to hit. I looked at the improvised slingshot I held in my hand and sighed in frustration. It had been two weeks since I started out for California. Granted, I didn't exactly expect to be burning up the miles but it felt like it was slower going than I'd imagined. It was a combination of things but mostly it was having to adjust to living out in the wilderness.

Up until the Change happened, my experience in trekking through the wilderness consisted of two to three day treks with my grandpa and coming back to the house that had indoor plumbing. Our camping trips were about fun, not survival training. I wasn't used to hiking around with a pack all day, every day but with each day, I was getting stronger. It also helped that my food stores were being depleted which made my pack lighter.

Though there were a lot of things grandpa had taught me about the wilderness but there were a ton of things that I _didn't_ know. A big for instance was how to find water. I had to admit that this was a gaping hole in my knowledge. If I knew how to do that, I could find the nearest river and fish for my food. Because the map I took was a roadmap and not topographical, I was hesitant about wandering any deeper into the woods than I had to. I followed the road but took care to stay off of it whenever it was possible. I was wary of my fellow man since being attacked in the house. At the same time, the last thing I needed was to get lost in the woods and meet my end out there.

When I camped, I made sure that it was deep enough in the woods where people wouldn't be able to see my campfire too easily but not so far that I couldn't find my way out again. Also, grandpa never taught me anything about hunting outside of how to set a rabbit snare (which so far I'd been pretty unsuccessful at). I never really had any interest in it; me being a city boy and all, I figured I'd never need a skill like that, boy how wrong was I?

Obviously, the easiest solution would have been to go into a town or population center and forage for food but after what had happened to my grandpa and me, I was leery of any kind of human contact whatsoever. It was clear that I needed to adopt a brand new skill set if I was going to make it home. To help remedy my dwindling food supply, I created a slingshot, probably the easiest weapon on the planet to make using the nylon cord from my knife and a discarded paper cup I found. The best thing about the slingshot was that there was no such thing as dwindling ammunition.

So far, I couldn't hit water if I fell out of a boat with the thing and it was frustrating. At first I started out trying to hit live targets such as stray deer or rabbits but all I did was scare them off. It was then that I started aiming for something simpler, like a tree and I couldn't even hit that. It was tempting to just toss the sling away and give up but it was like every grown up I'd ever known had always told me, if I wanted to be good at something I had to work at it.

That didn't mean that I didn't pack it up early after _yet _another practice session that consisted of nothing but failure. I sighed and decided to pick up my _bokken _and practice with that. Unlike the sling, I was _good_ with that. Just because the world had gone topsy turvy didn't mean that I deviated from my training routine. _Because_ things were so fucked up, my skill with the _bokken _would literally mean the difference between life and death so I trained even harder than I ever had before. I even experimented with new moves as I visualized fighting the guy who killed my grandpa over and over again.

The crickets were out in full force, their sound harmonizing with the rest of the nightly chorus of wildlife in the forest. The shadows my campfire tossed made me imagine there was some mountain lion or bear waiting behind a tree to snatch me up for dinner but I pushed the thoughts out of my head, lest they'd distract me from practice. I wouldn't quite say that I was at home in the woods but I was comfortable enough to not jump at every sound.

Finally when my arms were good and sore and I was soaked in sweat, I ended my practice. I barely registered how funky I was these days though I _did_ miss a hot shower. Whenever I did happen to stumble across water, I took the time to refill my canteen and to bathe but that wasn't as often as I liked. I opened up one of my remaining cans of tuna and started chowing down as I read through "The Book of Five Rings" which was my nightly ritual. The tuna disappeared much faster than I planned which made me sigh. My stomach still growled but not as loud as it did earlier.

My eyes didn't want to peel themselves open when dawn rose the next day. The sun was like God's flashlight shining down on me as if I was caught in the middle of doing something I shouldn't. Groggily, I woke up and stretched, brushing the dirt off myself and checked my pack. To my dismay, I was running real low on food.

I was amazed that my food supply lasted as long as it did with my rationing but it was finite. Since I hadn't had much luck with the hunting, I realized that I only had one option available to me. I sighed as I readied my pack and slung it over my shoulder, making sure I broke up the camp site like grandpa had always taught me.

So far I hadn't run into anybody on the road as I traveled unless the dead bodies in the cars counted. I'd since gotten used to the sight and smells of the corpses but that didn't mean I meandered around for too long around them. Like always, I hummed a song as I walked; it helped to take my mind off the weight on my back and the death around me. I was humming "Midnight Confessions" by The Grass Roots, one of my dad's favorite songs.

My parents raised me on oldies and as such, I'd developed an appreciation for most types of music. It was something that helped me win Vanessa's heart because she was a big music fan too. I always found it amazing that she could be so beautiful and eclectic at the same time. She was another thought that helped make the miles easier as she filled me with a longing that I _needed_ to feel, otherwise I would've probably gone insane. When I glanced at the cars on the road that sat there silently like steel tombs, I wasn't sure that I hadn't.

Right now I was following I-5 but I had to make a detour to avoid Seattle in the beginning of my trip though it added some miles onto my journey. I had no idea what the city was like but I didn't want to take any chances. From what I saw on the roads, my decision vindicated me. Now I was nearing a small town called Maple Valley which was twenty-eight miles from Seattle. I could only hope that the place hadn't been looted all to be damned. I hoped that it was completely abandoned too while I was at it but I knew that I might as well had been wishing for the sun not to rise.

It probably would've been smarter to have gone in during the night but I was hungry I figured the danger was probably the same whether the sun was shining or not. At least during the day, I could see my enemy coming. Besides, I grew weary of being on the road; I guess I hadn't quite become a mountain man quite yet. I gripped my _bokken _tightly, took a deep breath and started walking.

"Rustic," was the first impression I got of Maple Valley. It looked like it was a mining town that had a city grown around it. The second impression I got was "creepy." Except for the sounds of the wildlife and my footsteps, the place was lifeless. I knew that should've made me feel better but it didn't. I started humming "Where is my mind" by the Pixies; it reminded me of hanging out at the mall with my friends, looking at CDs and hitting up the comic shop afterwards. It helped keep my fear in check as I walked up Main Street. The place was gutted; it looked like looters had ransacked the place and I had flashbacks to the fracas at Miller's General Store.

I didn't want to dawdle so I started poking around each building, looking for food and feeling disappointed when I found none even though I should've expected it. I continued through the length of the town until I got to the city limits. The sun was in its initial phase of setting and I was tired. In the distance was a gas station that would've looked dilapidated even before the Change but maybe it had food. The gas station like most gas stations on lonely roads was set on an island on the side of the two lane highway. Bordering its rear was the ever present woods of Washington State. I could hear the gentle lapping of water in the distance.

As I neared, I saw a figure rummaging through the building. I was about to turn away but my curiosity overrode my fear. It had occurred to me once or twice that it was possible that not everybody in the world had turned into assholes even though I had two, very horrible experiences. It turned out that it wasn't someone rummaging but someone carrying, almost dragging a thrashing shape. It was hard to make out clearly but I could swear that the shape was mewling at first. I realized that the mewling was screaming, a child's screams, a _little girl's_ screams.

Cold terror reached deep into my stomach and strangled it. I didn't know what was going on but it was the understatement of the year that whatever it was couldn't be good. The man dragging the little girl was a big man, very burly, dressed in tattered jeans and a leather vest. His hair was going slightly gray which shimmered in the afternoon sun.

Things got worse when I saw four more men and one woman follow behind him shortly after. I was far away enough away from them where they hadn't seen me yet. Even from where I was, I could hear their cackling though I couldn't exactly make out everything they were saying. I could see that there was some sexual innuendo with the woman by the way they were getting all frisky with her.

Frozen in my tracks, I tried to fight down my fear and decide on a course of action. I wasn't having any luck with the fear whatsoever. I wanted to do the right thing and try to rescue that little girl but I had a responsibility to stay alive for Vanessa didn't I? Besides I reasoned, I was one against six; that was impossible odds for anybody. Maybe if I were a samurai in the movies, I could dispatch them with ease but I wasn't, I was a sixteen year old kid just trying to get back home in a world gone psycho. What could I do?

"Just stay the course, Vanessa's waiting for you." I muttered to myself as I picked up my bag and started to walk the way I came. "There's just too many of them, too many. I can't take on that many by myself." With each successive step, the guilt that I was trying to dam from my conscience kept seeping through. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I stopped abruptly. "_There's nothing I can do!" _ I yelled to the empty town.

My whole life, I wished I could be the hero I saw in anime and comic books. Miyamoto Musashi was one of my greatest heroes and here I was walking away from a little girl that was having god knows what done to her. I knew I just _knew _that my parents wouldn't approve, grandpa would be ashamed of me and all of the respect that I painstakingly gained with Vanessa would've been completely swept away. I could almost hear them admonishing me as clearly as I could hear the birds chirping in the trees.

A plan began forming in my head as started to walk with increasing purpose. I shrugged my bag off my shoulders and walked into a nearby hardware store. It had been looted but not completely; the remaining inventory lay strewn about on the floor. The sun was setting so the interior of the store was getting dark. It didn't help that the street was lined with trees which helped block out the sun. I put my bag behind the cashier's counter and helped myself to a few tools.

The next stop was to a toy store. With the exception of the cash register, this place wasn't _as_ badly looted as the other shops that I'd passed. I guessed that people didn't have a lot use for toys when the change happened. It didn't take long for me to find what I was looking for, a Super-Soaker. I helped myself to the biggest one that I could find and made my way outside.

There was no shortage of cars for what I had planned. I took the buckets I looted from the hardware store and popped the hood of the nearest car. Even though I'd gotten somewhat used to it, I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn't find a corpse in there. The thought made me pause for a moment but then I shook it off.

Dad always said that every man should at least know how to change the oil their car. Though he wasn't a professional mechanic, he knew enough to keep our family car running with a minimum of intervention from the local garage and he showed me. I filled one bucket with oil and after some effort, mostly because I was working in the growing darkness, I finally got the battery out of the car. Painstakingly, I managed to jimmy the battery open and poured the battery acid into the other bucket. Some of it splashed on me but the jacket I put on and the work gloves I got from the store protected me from getting burned. I took a deep breath and then truly began to work.

Later, I don't know how long I spent, maybe a couple of hours I couldn't be sure, I made my way to the garage. Like I thought, one of the gang was standing outside on watch. His torch illuminated his face craggy face and drooping mustache. I made him and the rest of his posse out to be bikers from the way they looked.

Now was the most important part of the plan; the military called it "psychological operations" or "psyops." Where I came from, we called it "fucking with people's heads." I was thankful that Vanessa helped me to buckle down in school and actually made me learn and remember stuff. Right now, I was remembering my history class. I realized that history was very important but most of it was so damn _boring!_ I did pay attention however when it came to battles because those were very cool.

Specifically, I was remembering reading about the Texas Ranger, Leander McNelly. At one time he was a Confederate officer and he captured 800 Union troops with nothing but a bluff. Not that I or anybody else I knew would ever root for the Confederacy but I had to respect brains over brawn. I doubted I would ever be counted as one of the great military strategists of our time but considering my odds, I figured I'd give bullshitting them a try.

Crickets chirped loudly as I moved as silent as possible. It was a dim moon for which I was thankful; it would cut down on my visibility even more. If it were a full moon, I'd definitely have problems. The gas station was maybe three hundred feet away. It was hard to see in the darkness but the guy's torch made for an excellent beacon for me to spot him. I also knew that the light from the torch messed with his night vision at long distances thanks to grandpa's endless but always interesting lectures. I thought about trying to hit him with my slingshot but considering that I couldn't even hit a tree, no way I could hit a man in the dark; "yeah right, only in the movies" I thought to myself.

"Are you in position?" I cried out in a high pitched voice. The sentry looked up in the direction of the sound and I was instantly moving. "Yeah, we're ready over here!" I shouted, this time in a different pitch while on the move. "Team two are you ready? I said, _are_ you ready?" I said again, again moving across my imaginary perimeter. At each spot, I planted and lit an oil soaked torch, marking each position. Though I couldn't see his face, from the way the sentry fidgeted, he had no idea what was going on. "Yeah, we're ready! You in the gas station come out with the girl, unarmed or we're coming in and we're coming in heavy!" I screamed in the deepest voice I could manage.

At this, the lone biker turned and poked his head inside the door, most likely to warn his friends. Two more of them exited the door and tapped some ferocious looking objects in their hands. "Fuck you! You want her, you come get her. The Sinners never back down from a fight!" The sentry shouted. His voice took on a weird echo in the darkness. I'd never heard of The Sinners biker gang but that wasn't exactly surprising.

While they were distracted and trying to figure out their next step, I dashed into the woods without the benefit of torchlight. I tripped a couple of times, skinning my palms and knees. Luckily, I didn't drop the bucket of oil I was carrying. I grunted in pain but pushed on. Finally, I reached the rear of the gas station and sure enough like I thought, there was a biker; the one I saw earlier who was dragging the girl was posted at the rear entrance.

He stood there, tapping the business end of an aluminum baseball bat in his hand. I unslung the super soaker from over my shoulder, set the bucket of oil down and crept as quietly as possible. With all the leaves and branches on the ground, this was next to impossible to do though so I decided to charge, pumping the water rifle on the go. He saw me and let out a cry of surprise and rage. Before he could charge me, I pointed the super-soaker at his face and fired; streams of battery acid shot into his face and eyes at full force.

His scream turned from one of battle fury to agony. He fell to the ground clutching at his face while writhing on the ground. The smell of his burning flesh filled the air and made me want to retch but I fought down the urge. Seeing him thrash around on the ground like that, I couldn't work up a whole lot of sympathy for the guy. I shook myself out of my reverie and got the bucket of oil; I lit a piece of paper with my Zippo and dropped it into the bucket. I took my _bokken _from my belt, opened the door and tossed the flaming bucket inside.

Fire spread across the floor like water; it spread in waves and I couldn't help but think that it was one of the most beautiful sights I'd ever seen. I just hoped that I didn't cook the little girl I was trying to rescue. My heart beat in triple time as I stepped through the door. I could hear the screams of terror and confusion from the other bikers. When they piled out the front door, I breathed a slight sigh of relief but it was very _slight. _I had a hunch that between my ruse and the fire, the bikers would bug out and leave the girl thinking they were being attacked en masse. I admit that I took a big chance because what if they didn't? If they didn't, well….I had no real plan for that.

Coughing came to the right of me that I could hear through the crackle of the flames. The door to the right was slightly ajar and led to a garage. The garage would've been dark save for the orange glow cast from the fire. I saw the little girl tied to one of the hydraulic presses. The sight of her made me cringe. She couldn't have been more than eight years old with long blonde hair and big blue eyes that were red from crying. At any other time, she would've reminded me of one of those kids that parents put in modeling shows at too young of an age. She was naked and shivered as she was bound against the pole and covered in blood and bruises. My imagination raced at what those monsters did to her and I began to feel sick again.

She started screaming bloody murder as she saw me approach followed by crying. "It's okay; I'm not here to hurt you!" I whispered though there was urgency in my voice. The smoke was starting to get really thick and I didn't have to be a chemistry expert to know that fire and gas stations didn't mix. When I pulled my knife to cut her loose, another bloodcurdling shriek escaped her lips. I tried my best to shush her but the look of terror in her eyes was saying that wasn't going to happen.

Her feet kept lashing out at me, trying to keep me from getting at her. Even when I circled around behind her and tried to cut her free, she kept thrashing so much that I was afraid that I was going to cut her. I kept telling her to calm down but I knew that I was wasting my breath. The ropes finally went slack and she tried to run away but she was weak from constant abuse and collapsed. A stream of blood ran down her thighs which hammered home the full reality of what was done to her.

Considering the danger we were in of getting blown sky high, I didn't care if she flinched at my touch; I had to get her out of there. She started screaming again but this time her eyes weren't focused on me but over my shoulder. I turned around just narrowly avoiding a blade that hissed through the air and bit into the concrete. The surprise attack made me stumble off balance but gave me the benefit of putting some distance between me and my attacker.

Scrambling to my feet, I readied my _bokken_ just as the biker took another swing at me. I deftly ducked under his swing but with his free hand, he caught me with a glancing backhand that stung my jaw. I created more distance between us with a few steps backward. Blood welled up from the side of my mouth and my tongue probed a nice cut on my lip. I vowed I wasn't going to let that happen again. I got a good look at him now; I only saw the sentry and the guy who dragged the little girl earlier clearly so he was new to me.

He was big, I mean _really _big as in tall and very muscular. He was dressed like the other two bikers however, sporting jeans, a ripped up shirt, heavy black boots and a leather vest that bore his gang's colors. His bald head gleamed with sweat and it dripped over his bushy brown eyebrows. In his hands was a dull but dangerous looking machete that he twirled around menacingly.

There was no fear now but only anger at what was done to the little girl, a righteous indignation really. "I'm gonna cut you up good and leave you to burn here nigger!" He shouted over the roar of the flames outside the garage. I was taken aback at his words; I'd never been called a "nigger" before, at least not to my face. I'd only seen it done in the movies and heard it from the stories my parents and grandpa told me but never experienced it firsthand.

I was part of a generation that I believed was more enlightened than the previous one and it actually took me a couple of seconds to generate a response. It wasn't that I was not angry or scared; it's just that the words sounded so cliché coming out of his mouth considering where we were; it was almost like he was a villain straight out of a comic book. When I thought of the absurdity of it or maybe it was because of the adrenaline singing in my veins, I actually _laughed_ to both of our surprise.

Apparently my laughter merely pissed him off because he came charging at me but this time I was ready for his charge. He slashed at my head; I underestimated his speed and barely managed to get my _bokken _up in time to parry the blow. In Kendo, we're taught that clashing blade on blade only happens in the movies; that's the best way to get your sword broken. The proper way to parry a blade was to catch it at its weakest point and redirect the energy of the strike harmlessly away from you. The wooden blade of my _bokken _connected with his steel one,knocking his blade down and to the right.

Before I could initiate a counterstrike, he brought the blade back up again with lightning speed and again, I barely managed to parry the blow. He wasn't particularly technically skilled with the weapon but what he lacked in technique, he made up for with natural athleticism. "I'm gonna gut ya punk!" He snarled. I didn't reply but merely got into the _hasso-no-kamae _stance, letting my training take over my body, putting it on automatic pilot. The blade was raised vertically and parallel to my shoulder; this served to confuse my opponent as to where I would strike giving me options while leaving me with a good defense.

We came forward at each other simultaneously. His strides ate up the ground with a grace that belied his appearance while I pressed forward with all the speed I could muster. He swung his blade with that blinding speed again but this time because my weapon was longer I had the advantage. I parried it downward with a slap, sidestepped and hit him with a modified _Han-men _strike to the right side of the head. Usually this strike is done with one hand but I used both hands to generate more power. I hit him so hard that the sound of my _bokken _splintering off the side of his head overpowered my _kiai _shout; it seemed that my anger got the best of me. Still, he slumped to the floor, blood oozing out of the side of his head, soaking the broken wooden blade lying in the puddle. The gash was so deep that I thought that I could see his skull but I might've been imagining things.

My breath came out in deep but steady exhalations as I looked at the broken practice sword in my hand. Reality seemed to click back in place at once because I could hear suddenly hear the girl's screams and the raging fire, making me remember where I was. "C'mon, we've gotta go!" I shouted as I scooped the thrashing girl up. Her blood matted my shirt as I began to walk.

A lance of searing pain shot up my leg and made me cry out in agony. My legs buckled and I almost dropped the girl but I managed to hold on. A butterfly knife was stuck in my thigh, courtesy of the bald biker I thought I killed. He was on his hands and knees and blood poured down his face, masking half of it in crimson. He was woozy but the malice never left his eyes. I don't know how he was still standing after taking a hit like that. With the blood on his face, he looked like a certified monster.

Pain transformed to anger as I tore out the knife with a scream and stabbed what was left of my _bokken _into his throat. The jagged wood split the flesh of his throat like a rock hitting the surface of a lake. Blood sprayed all over me and the girl but fortunately it only splattered on her back and didn't get on her face. The knife dropped to the concrete with a clatter. I don't think she could take any more horror. Then again, I wasn't sure if I could either.

With the heat of the fire licking my legs and body, I shambled out of that gas station. I managed a glance at the biker whose face I'd melted off with the acid. He was dead now and I couldn't bring myself to care. I limped as fast as I could away from the gas station and into the dark woods. The light from the fire helped illuminate the surroundings some, enough that I didn't trip and break my neck. Each step was an adventure in torture but I had no choice but to put the weight on the leg.

I considered heading back into town to retrieve my pack and get a first aid kit but I figured that's where the rest of the bikers would go. I had no choice but to plunge deeper into the woods. Fortunately the girl had decided to stop thrashing; I think she passed out from all the excitement, I couldn't say that I blamed her. We were good and far away before the gas station finally went up. It actually took longer to explode than I expected it to but explode it did. The ball of fire reached into the sky and provided a light show that rivaled the Fourth of July. Poor kid was so zonked out that not even the roar of the explosion woke her up.

Soon I had to stop to rest. The pain in my leg was too much and I had to bind it. I ripped off the bottom half of my Nirvana t-shirt and used the rag to wrap my leg. My little knowledge of first aid was enough to stop the bleeding at least temporarily. I didn't know what to do about it in the long term though. I just hoped that the leg didn't get infected. I was exhausted and a bit woozy from the blood loss. Through my pain, I remembered the little girl and the state she was in. I took off my jacket and wrapped her in it.

I looked at her fitfully sleeping and thought "We're quite a pair. Damn we're lucky to be alive." That was no idle boast neither; I'd only gotten away with the rescue because I was lucky as hell, I didn't mind admitting that either. I didn't want to think about what if that biker had come back with the rest of his crew. The adrenaline wore off and in its place came the shakes. Still shivering, I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and let myself fall into a coma-like sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

The next morning I awoke with a start and shivering. I guess my luck was still with me that we didn't get eaten alive by predators through the night or those bikers hadn't found us. My leg was still hurting but it didn't look like it had bled too much more since I bound it. All I knew was that we had to get out of the woods and far away from those bikers as humanly possible.

Gently I nudged the girl awake. Her eyes fluttered open and then went wide when she saw me. Before she could scream I held her down and put my hand over her mouth. I knew this made me look like yet another kiddie rapist that she would have to endure but I couldn't let her give away our position.

"Look kid, I'm not going to hurt you okay? I rescued you!" I said, not being able to help the indignation in my voice. I figured I was entitled to a little annoyance; after all I almost got killed saving her. "If you promise not to scream, I'll take my hand off your mouth okay?" Her eyes were pleading but she nodded.

Slowly I took my trembling hand off her mouth. She didn't scream but fixed me with a terrified look. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." I repeated, holding my hands in a non-threatening gesture. I even backed away from her, my leg hurting from the effort. She shivered in the cold and her appearance put me in mind of a veteran who had seen too much battle.

I was no psychologist; I had no idea how to deal with a kid who'd just been raped and saw people get killed right in front of her eyes. We sat there in uncomfortable silence as the morning mists congealed. I wished I could get my coat back from her but the poor thing was naked under there and would freeze to death. The Washington State climate was doing no good for my California-bred metabolism. I held myself and shivered; I realized that I needed to take my mind off the cold and my pain.

"Do you have a name kid?" I asked. She merely stared at me with those big, hollow eyes. "My name is Claude, Claude Freeman. What's yours?" Again there was that stare. I noticed that her stare made her look like she was in a daze instead of just staring at me. I've heard something like that referred to as "the thousand yard stare;" it was something that combat veterans developed after seeing too much horror.

No other ideas came to me as to deal with her which was disheartening and frustrating at the same time. I couldn't go dragging her around with me but what choice did I have? Her life was my responsibility now that I saved it. "Well, we can't stay here kid; we've got to find shelter and hopefully, some food." I said as I slowly stood up. The pain in my leg made me move like a stiff old man. She still sat there, shivering in the cold. I reached out my hand to her and said "C'mon kid, we can't stay here. I won't let anything hurt you, I promise." I wasn't sure what I would do if she didn't respond. I couldn't leave her. For the briefest of moments, I considered putting her out of her misery but I dismissed the thought and cursed myself for even thinking it. "I'm _not _going to be like one of those monsters!" I thought to myself.

Lucky for me that she responded to my offered hand. She was hesitant to be sure but she did take my hand. I eased her up and we began to walk. My leg hurt with every step but the pain had numbed slightly, emphasis on _slightly. _I did my best not to put pressure on my leg as I walked but it was tough, especially considering that I had to slow down so that my diminutive, scared companion could keep up.

Crackling leaves and branches were the only thing that broke up the overwhelming silence as we walked. I figured she wouldn't say anything but I started talking anyway, mostly to keep our spirits up and to keep my mind off my leg. I told her where I was from, what grade I was in, how and why French fries were my favorite food of all time. When I thought I ran out of topics to speak about, I talked about Vanessa; I don't think I could _ever_ get tired of talking about her.

It felt like we'd been walking forever but it actually was two hours, maybe three. Absently, I looked down at my watch that I wore by habit and chuckled at how stupid the gesture was. The hands were still stuck on 6:15, the exact minute everything had changed _forever_. My mouth got tired of talking and I was getting on my own damned nerves with my voice so I decided to hum as I usually did while walking. I started humming "Gentlemen" by the Afghan Whigs when we arrived in the residential area of Maple Valley. I'm sure we could've gotten there quicker had we just took the streets but I was still leery of the remaining Sinners catching up with us so we tromped through the woods.

Like Main Street Maple Valley, the houses looked pretty much deserted. There was an assorted amount of litter and leavings from what looked like people who were in a rush to get away in the street. I saw kid's toy fire truck with a broken wheel lying against the curb. Instinctively, I drew my hunting knife and gripped it tightly. I couldn't quite say that I got a full on bad feeling but the emptiness of the town unnerved me enough to make me nervous. I guess the whole thing reminded me too much of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers."

Most of the houses had their doors locked; I guess everybody figured on coming back to their places thinking that the Change would hopefully blow over. My little friend was wincing with each step she took, shaking the mask of emptiness on her face to pieces. I looked down at her feet and saw that they were bleeding. I cursed myself for forgetting that she wasn't wearing shoes. The pain in my leg reminded me that I wasn't in great shape either.

"C'mon kid, let's get off the road." I said. Though it would've been easier to go into one of the houses with unlocked doors, it made more sense to me to break into a locked house. My logic was, was that someone was less likely to be hiding out in a locked house, at least I hoped so anyway. The third house from the end of the block with a mailbox that said "Dickerson" on it was the one that I chose. The door was study but after a few good shoves, it gave way. The doors in Maple Valley were unlike the ones back home in Gardena; everybody had steel screen doors that covered a solid oak one behind it, not to mention bars on the windows. My neighborhood wasn't exactly the ghetto but it wasn't Mayberry either.

Inside the house was dark and musty from it being closed up for so long. I held my knife at the ready and glad that nobody leapt out to attack me. Still, I was missing my _bokken _just because of the reach that it offered and how I'd grown so comfortable with it. I ushered the little girl into the house and closed the door, securing it as best as I could. It looked like how I imagined a house in Maple Valley should look, very simple and not overdone with excessive amounts of furniture.

Actually the house looked like it belonged to an old person from how it was decorated. I only say that because my grandpa's house was decorated similarly. All of the couches were wrapped in plastic like my grandpa's was and there were antiques in the form of figurines that littered the shelves. The darkness and the abandonment of the house just added to the overall feel isolation I'd gotten ever since the Change happened.

Since no bandits, aliens or zombies jumped out, I breathed a slight sigh of relief and sheathed the knife. "It's okay; it looks like the coast is clear." I said to my traveling companion. She seemed a little more responsive but that was like saying dousing yourself with water after getting burned by molten lava makes it hurt less. Still, she grasped my hand with surprising strength and she followed me inside. It was like trying to free myself from a vise but I managed to gently pry her hand away so I could further investigate.

Pain shot up my leg with each step; my leg had gone stiff from walking on the wound so much. The limp I'd developed made me look like a certified pirate; all I needed was an eyepatch and a parrot. I resisted the urge to shout "Arrgh!" When I thought about that, I had a good, very genuine chuckle, the first I'd had in a while. The feeling was euphoric and made me realize how underrated laughter really was. Considering how the Change had affected everything, I figured I'd better come up with a good supply of laughter in the upcoming days if I was going to survive.

As I hoped, the house indeed empty after sweeping it from room to room. Gratefully, I plopped down on the nearby couch, the plastic that covered it crumpled underneath me. I chuckled again as the sound reminded me of grandpa and I suddenly felt very sad. When I looked at the little girl, I shrugged the feeling off; I had to stay strong for the both of us, she couldn't see me crying.

"You know, we should get cleaned up and I should take care of this wound. I wonder if the water in this place still works?" I said. I didn't want to get off of the couch but I did anyway with a tired groan. Of course my companion didn't answer and I didn't expect her to. I made my way into the kitchen, grateful that it was still light out so I could see somewhat.

Thank goodness for small favors when I found the candles in one of the drawers. I guess I shouldn't complain, for all intents and purposes the girl and could've easily been dead. I shrugged the unpleasant thought off and lit a candle with my Zippo. I checked the taps in the sink and to my dismay, they didn't work. I sighed and gave up on checking any of the other taps in the house because I knew the results would've been the same. Instead, I went into the bathroom where I was sure I'd find water.

Growing up in California, _everyone _was required to know what to do in case of an earthquake. I'd been drilling for an apocalypse level quake ever since I was four years old and part of that training consisted of knowing where to find clean water in the house when the pipes didn't work. I opened the tank in the toilet and sure enough, there were a few gallons in there. I figured if we rationed, we could make the water last a few days. I found a bucket and scooped some of the water into it.

First thing was first and that was to clean my wound. I looked under the sink and found a bottle of alcohol. The expiration date was little past due but I didn't really care. I unwrapped my wound and found that the bleeding had slowed a lot but was starting up again. Gritting my teeth, I poured the alcohol on the wound; when the burning sensation started, my hand shot out on its own volition and nearly broke the nearby mirror. I did my very best not to scream but I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips. I took a moment to compose myself and let the pain die down and then I removed my clothes and stepped into the bathtub.

Sure it was cold and bracing but the water felt good rushing over my body and made me realize that it had been awhile since I bathed last. There was still soap in the dish and I gratefully scrubbed myself as best as I could taking care to gently clean my wound with the soap as well. After I was finished with that, I took more alcohol and doused the hole. Again it took all I had not to cry out.

Though I rummaged around, to my disappointment, I couldn't find any bandages. I sighed and tore off a piece of the towel I used to dry myself off with, I figured it would do in a pinch. I smelled and felt a lot better after that and looked in disgust at the blood and filth I left in the bathtub but there was nothing to be done about that. I looked at my clothes and considered putting them back on but they'd had it. I missed my bag with other changes of clothes in it suddenly.

When I opened the door, I saw the girl standing in the living room staring blankly at the wall. I covered myself with a towel and crept into the nearby bedroom while her back was to me. I raided the closets and drawers of the place and found my suspicions about the house belonging to an old man confirmed. There was nothing _but _old folks clothes including khakis rode all the way to the stomach. Shrugging, I put them on and found that they were bit baggy but they fit. If the Change never happened and anyone caught me in those clothes the very _few _cool points that I'd amassed over the course of my life would've been instantly depleted. I tightened the belt around my waist and looked in the mirror; the image staring back at me made me shake my head. Fortunately, since I had nobody to impress, I didn't feel too self-conscious.

"Hey, if you want to get cleaned up, you're more than welcome." I said as I stepped out of the bedroom. She turned and looked at me as if she saw me for the first time, the poor thing. I limped over and gently approached her. "Nobody's going to hurt you here, I promise. Look, the water is cold but how about I heat it up for you, would you like that?" I asked. She was still hesitant but I shot her a reassuring smile. "It would probably do you and me good if you washed yourself you know? Maybe it could help you take your mind off things? Wouldn't you like that?" She slowly nodded but hugged the jacket over her body out of nervous habit. "Just wait here, I'll hook you up." I said and limped to the kitchen.

Finding a pot, I set it on the counter and then went over to the fireplace where there was no wood. That wasn't a problem, finding kindling wasn't exactly a problem in Washington State. I went to the backyard, gathered up as many loose branches as I could find and tossed them into the fireplace where I lit it up. Then I went into the bathroom and filled the pot up with water. Once the blaze started going, I was able to find a rack which I could place the pot over the fire. It took a few minutes the water began to boil. The old man must've been handy with the oven or maybe they belonged to his wife because I found a pair of well-worn oven mitt which I used to take the pot off and carry it into the bathtub.

"Your tub is drawn fair lady." I said with flourished bow. For once, a smile though slight crossed her lips. "I'll find you something to wear while you get cleaned up okay?" She nodded slightly and walked to the bathroom. I noticed that she casted suspicious eye over her shoulder at me; lord knows I didn't blame her. "Just shut the door, I promise you'll be okay. Just be careful, the water is hot." I said, feeling terrible that she'd even think that I would ever touch a child that way. I knew she couldn't help it after what she'd been through but I couldn't help but feel just a little bit resentful.

Still, I went into the bedroom once again and rummaged through the closets but I didn't find any women's clothing only more old man's clothes. Obviously, none of that stuff would fit her so I improvised and found a shirt that would be big and baggy on her, it would do as a dress until we could find her something better. I laid the shirt on the floor in front of the bathroom and knocked on the door. "There's baggy shirt here you can wear. Sorry I couldn't find anything else." I said through the door and went back in the living room.

A short time later, she came into the room with the shirt, holding the jacket. She looked a lot better after she was all cleaned up but the scared look was still on her face. "Do you want to tell me your name yet?" I asked which her answer was that stare of hers although she did come and sit down next to me on the couch. I knew I had to do something to bring her out of her shell but since I had no idea how to deal with situations like this, I was at a loss.

"Well since you won't talk, I guess I'll have to do the talking for both of us." I said as I leaned back on the couch, happy that I could rest my leg. "I'm from Los Angeles, actually a suburb called Gardena which is ten minutes from Inglewood if you know where that is but you probably don't. When the change happened, I was up here visiting my grandpa for his birthday. He's dead now, and so are my parents I think because they were flying when the Change happened and well…" I bit my lip at the thought not wanting to think it anymore and plus like I said, I didn't want her to see me cry.

"Anyhow, I have this awesome girlfriend named Vanessa who I'm trying to get back to see, kind of silly huh?" She didn't respond but I could tell she was listening intently. "Maybe it is" I said, talking more to myself than to her. "But it's all I have left, I have to get back to her, I just have to. I love her, you can't imagine how much. She's probably the most wonderful person I've ever met." An idea suddenly occurred to me and I reached into my back pocket which made her flinch at the sudden movement. I put out my hand and showed her what I was reaching for, my wallet. "Want to see a picture of her?" I asked as I pulled out one of my many photos of Vanessa that I kept in my wallet. I showed her my favorite one; it was taken on Vanessa and my second date. It was an image of us leaning against the pier hugging each other, holding our popcorn with the goofy grins teenagers got when they were in love. Some guy took a Polaroid of us because he said we made a cute couple. I had it reduced to wallet size.

"We were at the Santa Monica Pier during the summer; we'd gotten there at ten in the morning and stayed until the lights came on, on the promenade. I don't think I'd ever had so much fun or felt so comfortable with anyone than with Vanessa." I said, lost in the memory,

"She's beautiful." The little girl said so quiet that I almost didn't hear her. I did a double take and was snapped out of my reverie.

"You talked! So you _can _speak!" I exclaimed with a smile which drew a smile out of her. I figured I'd continue this line of conversation and get her to feel more comfortable. "Yeah, that's the love of my life. I hope she's okay. No, strike that, I _know _she's okay. You believe me don't you?" I asked. She nodded slightly, still staring at the picture. "She's even better looking in person if you can believe it. Say, would you like this picture?" She nodded fervently and took it.

"Thank you." She said with that almost ethereal voice. I nodded and began to get up to search for some food because my stomach was growling.

"I'm going to find us some eats. I know you must be hungry because I'm starving." I said, feeling proud of myself that I got her to talk.

"Kaylee, my name is Kaylee." She said as I began to leave.

"My name is Claude and it's very nice to meet you Kaylee. Let's get something to eat okay?" She smiled and got up, taking my hand gently as I walked into the kitchen which surprised the hell out of me. At first she couldn't stand to be touched and now here she was holding my hand, life was funny that way. Still I didn't complain.

We found a couple of cans of beef stew which I heated over the fire place. Both of us wolfed them down in record time; I guess we were hungrier than we even imagined. Also, the dam over her mouth seemed to break because now I couldn't get her to shut up. She told me her name was Kaylee Cook, she was eight years old and her favorite color was orange among other things.

"Where's your parents?" I asked, hoping that they weren't dead. I didn't want to dredge any bad memories for her for as long as I could help it. When she clammed up, I knew that I had fucked up. I was so bad at this! "I'm sorry Kaylee." I said, hoping to get her to talk again. It was important for me that she talked. Not only would I have liked to have found her folks and returned her safe, she was the first person in weeks that I had a conversation with and wasn't trying to kill me.

Silence fell heavy between us for a few moments before I had the courage to ask her another question. "Well, where are you from? It's not fair that you know where I'm from and I don't know where you're from." I said trying to be as disarming as possible.

"I…I'm from Ravensdale." She volunteered but very slowly. I breathed a sigh of relief that she answered my question.

Suddenly, I remembered seeing that name before. When I was looking at the map trying to determine where I was, the name "Ravensdale" caught my eye because I thought it had such a cool sounding name. It sounded like a kingdom in some fantasy movie with dragons and buxom princesses and stuff. If I remembered correctly, it wasn't far from Maple Valley at all.

"Kaylee, would you like to go home? I could take you there. Surely, there has to be somebody there to take care of you. How would that be huh?"

Of all the reactions I'd expected, crying was at the very bottom of the list. At first, I thought I'd somehow hurt her feelings but then she said, "I want to go home!" She threw herself into me and let out what must've been days of pent up fear and frustration into my torso. "I want to go home!" She kept repeating over and over.

"It's okay Kaylee" I said, still hesitant about how to tread but knowing what I had to do. "We'll get you home. We'll leave first thing tomorrow."

After awhile, Kaylee stopped crying. Actually, she cried so much that she wore herself out and crashed on the big bed in the master bedroom. Even then, that was after protesting that she wasn't tired. She reminded me of me when I was her age, always doing my damndest to fight off sleep. I don't know what I was thinking at that age. Meanwhile, even though I was tired myself and still sore, I meandered around the house.

From the pictures and other bric-a-brac lying around, the house belonged to Patrick Dickerson. The impression that I got from before that the house belonged to an old person was right on the money; besides the plastic on the couches, I found an old scrapbook of Mr. Dickerson's. I became more intrigued by the man's life with each flip of the page. He was a native of Maple Valley, born and bred though I had no idea if his parents came from here as well. It turned out that he was a Marine and fought in the South Pacific in World War Two. After his military pictures, the majority of them were of him and his wife named Stella.

What struck me as odd was that there were no pictures of children or grandchildren. It being 1997 and all, surely he _had_ to have some grandchildren. Then it occurred to me that throughout my exploration of the house, I didn't see a room with any children's things or decorations. People, even old people never completely get rid of their children's things, even if their child were to die prematurely or something. Then the insight hit me like a freight train as I put it all together, Patrick and Stella _couldn't _have children. Maybe this was a huge leap in logic but it made perfect sense based on everything I saw.

When I found a newspaper clipping of Stella's obituary, I felt horrible for Patrick. She died in 1989 of a stroke. His wife was dead and he had no children to speak of. I wondered what it was like being so utterly alone like that and then I remembered those few days spent in my grandpa's house after the Change and could relate. The difference between Patrick Dickerson and me though was that I _had _somebody. That wasn't fair, he had somebody too, she'd just died before he did. Also, he was spry enough to keep his house in order and to keep memories of her so I doubted he went and just offed himself. The bills on the table were dated at least a month ago so he was receiving mail before the Change happened. Maybe he went to Seattle for safety I thought, in fact it was likely. Exhaustion finally overtook me and I passed out right there with the photo album in my hands.

For how long I slept, there was no way of knowing but I instantly jerked awake completely on my own. If I had to guess why, it was probably my leg smarting. I closed my eyes a few times, trying to will sleep to come back but it wasn't happening. With a sigh, I got up and regretted it when I winced. I could hear Kaylee's rhythmic breathing from where I was standing; I thought about waking her up but decided to let her sleep for a little while longer. Lord knows she deserved the rest.

I limped to the backyard. On the way there, I flipped the light switch in the kitchen absentmindedly. When the lights didn't come on, I chuckled to myself about how old habits died hard. The first rays of dawn crept over the tree line which made me realize how long I'd been out. I thought I saw it earlier but I was so busy trying to get organized, that it didn't register but the shutter doors to the basement were right where I thought they were. I went over and found that they were padlocked.

Thinking back, I went into the kitchen where I found nail holding a key ring. I sifted through the keys until I found one that looked like it matched the padlock. Grabbing a candle and lighting it on the way, I went back outside and with a deep breath; I slid the key into the lock. With a click, it turned and I opened the door. There was that apprehension I felt when I first when into the house; logically I knew there would be nobody down there but that did nothing to assuage my fears. The knife appeared in my hand of its own volition as I stepped down there.

None of the attackers I imagined would be down there jumped out at me for which I was grateful. The basement yielded more history about Mr. Dickerson. His living room didn't reveal it but apparently he was also an avid hunter. Too bad guns didn't work anymore because he had beautiful rifles hung up on the walls as well as taxidermied deer he'd shot. I couldn't be concerned with that however because I was looking for things that I could use.

Also, I stumbled onto some of his old Marine stuff. Like my grandpa, he kept a lot of his stuff. This made sense; a lot of guys from Mr. Dickerson's era were proud patriots, even my grandpa who'd experienced the rawest forms of Jim Crow in this country and had every reason to hate it, he was still proud of his service and saw this country's potential. Hell everyone's seen the Time Life picture of the sailor kissing the nurse in the middle of Time's Square; it was a time to be proud.

Rummaging through his things, I found a duffel bag that I could use to store things like some of the tools which I figured could come in handy. I didn't see too many other things that I could use besides the tools and some lighter fluid which was a bummer seeing as how it was a basement that I was tooling around in. It made sense that most of his stuff would be cleared out if he was going to have to hoof it to Seattle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something shiny located in a back closet lying next to some of Mr. Dickerson's old uniforms. At first I thought it might've been some old war medals so I decided to take a closer look. Shock isn't the word to describe how I felt when I pulled out a Japanese Officer's Katana. Actually for the sake of accuracy, it was a "Type 98" Japanese Officer's sword. It was a fantastic coincidence but when I thought about it, modern conveniences all of a sudden just stop working suddenly was fantastic in of itself. I couldn't believe my luck; I broke my _bokken_ and I knew that I'd have to look for a new weapon besides my knife. Things were actually going my way for once like it was out of a fairy tale. Then again, between my family dying, being terrorized and getting stabbed in the leg I guess God owed me one. Maybe this whole weirdness worked both ways.

It actually made sense the more I thought of it, why Dickerson would have an authentic Katana blade in his closet. I thought back to all the books I read about World War Two and Japanese swordsmanship. Many servicemen took trophies home from that conflict including guns and swords from dead officers. Pickings were pretty good considering the Japanese Army's standing policy on surrender, generally there was none. If I remembered correctly, there were approximately 278,000 swords documented as trophies and probably many more undocumented.

Taking the blade in my hand and in accordance with tradition; I bowed to it, thankful that I was armed again with something I could use very well. I took the blade out of its sheath and swung it through the air a couple of times to get the feel for it. It was perfectly balanced and it felt good in my hands. From the way it cut through the air, I could tell it still retained its razor sharpness. On the blade I saw three hash marks; these were marks I'd only seen on swords in museums. The marks represented how many bodies it would cut through. Apparently, its sharpness was tested in the old school way; it was used to execute prisoners. I sheathed it and took it and the duffel bag with the tools in it with me upstairs.

Smiling, I went back inside the house and grabbed the remaining cans of food, which wasn't much and put them inside the bag. It had a good heft but not heavy enough to overtire me, just like my old bag. Kaylee was stirring as I finished stowing the food. I went over to her and gently shook her shoulder. "Ready to go?" I asked. She was still bleary eyed but the smile on her face told me her answer. I cleaned and bandaged my leg one more time as she got dressed and though it still hurt, some of the stiffness was gone.

The sun was starting to rise high into the sky as we exited Mr. Dickerson's house. "Thank you" I said as I glanced back at it. Technically we looted it but only for the things we needed to survive. I took note of his address and promised to come by this way again to thank him in person. I did take the time to write a thank you note and left it on his table.

"Let's get you home Kaylee" I said. I could sense she was still apprehensive; I figured the house represented safety to her and here we were about to cross into the same badlands that got her in this mess in the first place. Even still, she grabbed my hand tightly as if letting go would mean her death. I felt bad for her all over again when I made the analogy in my head. We started walking, ever minding the pain in my leg. The bag flopped on my left shoulder as walked; Kaylee's hand in my right hand and the katana in my left. It felt like a good day and both of us were eager to leave the unpleasant memories of Maple Valley behind us.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

The trip took longer than I expected. Under normal circumstances, four miles would've taken three hours at the max but with my hurt leg and rests because of it and with Kaylee's short legs, the trip took eight hours. And that was just to get to the city limits of Ravensdale. Fortunately, there were no Sinners to harass us; if there were, I wouldn't be in any condition to protect Kaylee and I.

Just as the sun was setting behind the trees, Kaylee guided us to a school on the city limits. I was surprised at her extraordinary recall. At her age, I didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground let alone the directions to my school from rote memory. The building was dull brown in color but gleamed in the sunlight. With the way my leg was smarting, I never saw a more welcome sight. All the same, my hand tightened on my Katana. I'd learned not to trust anything over the recent days.

We must've been quite a sight, the limping guy with the sword and old man clothes being almost dragged by the four foot little girl in a floral print, blue dress three sizes too big for her. Before we left, I found one of Mr. Dickerson's belts and tied it around her waist to keep the dress from falling off her. Even still, she had to adjust the straps on her shoulders every fifth step which got me to chuckle.

Apparently our approach didn't go unnoticed because a portly man with a shock of silver hair and a brown sheriff's uniform came out with a two-by-four. The nails driven into the heavy piece of wood gleamed in the light as he ambled toward us. "Let the girl go you son of a bitch!" He growled at me. It was clear he cared about her and was ready to take me apart.

"Sheriff Parker no, Claude is my friend!" Kaylee shrieked as she got in front of me. I found the gesture sweet but I wasn't going to let her be my human shield. I moved her aside but tried to be as non-threatening as I possibly could.

"Easy sir, like she said, I'm her friend. I'm not here to cause any trouble" I said. I held my sheathed sword to the side but didn't drop it. He had to know that I was ready to defend myself.

"He's telling the truth!" Kaylee agreed emphatically.

Sheriff Parker gave me look that left nothing to the imagination as to how he felt about me. "Kaylee, come here" he said, gently but firm. She looked at me as if needing my approval and I nodded. She ran to him and wrapped her tiny arms around as much of his girth as possible. "Where have you been kiddo?" He asked her, his voice full of worry. If he forgot about me, he soon remembered and fixed his gaze on me. He moved Kaylee out of the way slightly; his two-by-four wasn't raised but I knew he was ready to swing it at a moment's notice. "You…you found Kaylee?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah he did!" she chimed in.

"I got her away from the Sinners." Was all I said. I didn't want to go into detail about what happened to her, at least not in front of her. It was something better discussed in private anyway. Even though she knew better than anybody what happened to her, why go dredging it up when she seemed like she was getting better? Then again, what did I know about child psychology?

Finally, the sheriff seemed to relent a little but before he could say anything, a voice shrieked out Kaylee's name. It was female and at first I thought it was her mom grateful that her daughter was returned home to her. To my surprise, the voice belonged to a girl not too much older than me but probably in college…or was in college.

"_Sarah!" _Kaylee practically squealed.

She was slender, with blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled but had seen way too much and not had enough rest. She was dressed in jeans and a threadbare white shirt. She was very pretty; I'd seen girls like her in Santa Monica on the beach. Blondes were a dime a dozen there like they grew on trees but Sarah was striking to me. She ignored the sheriff and me and scooped Kaylee up in a fierce hug which Kaylee returned. "Oh my God, Kaylee…Oh my _God!" _She kept repeating over and over with tears streaming out of her eyes. Kaylee was crying too but this time with joy. Then, "We thought you were dead! Never scare us like that again!" she nearly screamed in Kaylee's face like an overstressed parent.

Sarah turned to me as she stood up. Kaylee still clung to her waist and had her cheek buried into Sarah's hip. "You're the one who found Kaylee? Thank you so much. If there's anything we can do…"

"Sarah! We don't know who this kid is; you can't just go around trusting every stranger!" The sheriff said gruffly.

"Don, he brought Kaylee back. I doubt he means us harm."

"But he's carrying a sword! And where's his family?"

She looked at the sheriff as if he had two heads. "Don, everyone is carrying weapons now. You want he should walk around defenseless? That's the dumbest excuse I've ever heard." She said to him derisively. It was only the briefest of moments but I thought I saw a flicker of humiliation in his eyes. I couldn't say that I was sorry she'd embarrassed him.

"It's no trouble really. Look I hate to impose but it's been a long walk from Maple Valley and my leg really hurts. If it isn't too much trouble, do you mind if we can go somewhere and sit down, maybe have something to eat? If not, I'll just be on my way." I was trying to be the 'Paladin' in this situation and be altruistic but I was honestly hoping they _wouldn't _turn me away.

"Sarah, Sheriff, can Claude please stay? He's my friend." Kaylee pleaded with them, much to my relief.

The sheriff received a look from Sarah that would brook no disagreement and added to it was Kaylee doing the best puppy dog look I'd ever seen. He couldn't help but relent. "Okay, but I'm watching you kid." As we started walking, he noticed my limp. "Got a little hitch in your step there huh?"

"Yeah, got it while saving Kaylee" I said coldly while not looking at him. That got him to tone down the distrust but only slightly.

"Well let's get that looked at and get you guys fed." Sarah said with a slight grin at seeing the sheriff get shut down. She led the way and gratefully I shuffled along. We entered the doors and I was surprised to find that the only people around were…children, children and a few adults. Just offhandedly, I counted at least ten kids and three adults. None of the children couldn't have been older than eleven years old; if it weren't for the adults, it would've been like a live action version of "Lord of the Flies."

"When, whatever this is… happened, we were here all at the school. None of the phones worked or the cars or anything. We couldn't reach any outside help. Fortunately, Don was here talking with the kids about safety so he managed to keep everything under control. Most of the parents of the kids are local but these you see here, their parents are in Seattle or other places. The teachers and staff you see here stayed behind voluntarily to look out for the kids while the others went for their loved ones. We have no idea what's going on outside of Ravensdale." Sarah said.

"Where are you from?" one of the teachers asked. "Did a nuke go off? What news do you have?" Others began to chime in.

Later in the nurse's office, I was sitting on one of the beds while Sarah got out the medical supplies. It was like every nurse's office I'd ever been to ever since I was a little boy; the place smelled antiseptic and the paper sheets on the bed wrinkled loudly when I sat on them. There was a little shaft of light coming in from a window which highlighted the dust particles in the air. The rest of the room was lit with candles which combined with the light from outside, illuminated the room nicely.

"God I miss electricity" Sarah remarked off-handedly as she rummaged through the cabinets for some alcohol. She also produced a needle and thread which made me wince. Even after everything I'd been through, I was still afraid of needles going anywhere _near _my body. She must've seen my reaction because she smiled and placed a gentle hand on my knee. "I promise I'll be gentle" she said reassuringly.

"Okay, I'm gonna hold you to that" I joked. "Now what do you want me to do?"

"Take your pants off" she replied simply. That got me to pause, unsure of what to say or do. This got her to laugh out loud. "You mean to tell me you can face down the Sinners but you can't take your pants off for a nurse to treat your wound?"

"No offense, but you're not like any nurse I've ever met." I said, meaning every word. I _wished _my school nurses looked like Sarah; every one of them I ever knew were old and ugly albeit, very nice. Mrs. Barnes was the exception to the nice rule however; in fourth grade, I hit my head on the slide while playing tag. She gave me a lecture about safety while she tortured me with by pouring alcohol in my cut under the premise of that she was "cleaning it." God she was a bitch….

My comment caused her to blush. "I'm hoping that was a compliment and not an insult Claude." She said hesitantly.

It was my turn to laugh. "Compliment, it was _definitely _a compliment." I saw her visibly ease down which set the general tone in the office. I sighed and reluctantly took off my pants. To tell the truth, I was grateful to get out of them, they were too baggy and uncomfortable. Then again, taking off my pants in front of a woman was sort of new for me. The only woman I'd ever taken my pants off for was my mom and that was when she was about to beat my ass for something. Hell, I'd never even taken my pants down for Vanessa though I always desperately wanted to. We just never reached that stage in our relationship.

Sarah was all professionalism even though she smirked at my discomfort. After taking off my makeshift bandage she said, "Well, I don't see any signs of an infection so that's good. You're pretty lucky you know?" As she gingerly probed my wound, she hit a tender spot which caused me to flinch. "Oops, sorry Claude." She said as she continued to probe. My heart quickened when she reached for the alcohol and I gripped the edges of the table so hard that I thought I was going to break it. She saw my trepidation and shrugged. "Gotta do it man, don't want to risk me sawing your leg off from gangrene right?" I was so freaked out from the word "gangrene" that I probably would've agreed to anything at that point.

Every time she got close to the wound with the alcohol soaked cotton ball, I winced prematurely and jerked my leg away. "Oh quit being such a big baby! _You're _the guy who took on the Sinners?"

"Sorry, it's just that….well it's gonna hurt!"

She sighed and relaxed her grip on the cotton ball. "Okay, well in that case, why don't you tell me where you're from?"

"I'm from California, Los Angeles actually; a suburb called Gardena to be exact."

"Really? What are you doing all the way out here in Washington?"

"Well before everything changed, I was visiting my grandpa because he moved up to Seattle. It was his birthday see and _Yeow!" _I glanced down to see Sarah swabbing the wound. "You totally tricked me!"

"Sorry, old doctor's trick." She replied smiling as she continued to work. "Well, don't stop. You've piqued my interest, tell me more. It'll help pass the time."

Sarah's touch was surprisingly gentle despite the burning from the alcohol; I winced and squirmed at the appropriate parts. As she finished cleaning my wound and began to stitch it up, I told her about everything that had happened to me up to the point I met her.

"That's quite a story. I'm really sorry about your family Claude." She said patting my hand.

"Thanks" was the only reply I could muster as a sudden wave of melancholy swept over me. Besides, I knew enough to know that mostly everybody had lost somebody behind the Change. "How _did _Kaylee get abducted anyway? The Sinners never found the school?"

Sarah paused for a moment then sighed. "She was playing in the woods and got separated from her friends. I guess she got lost when it got dark and meandered too far. We…we spent days searching for Sarah, Sheriff Parker and I but we found no trace of her. I guess she came across the Sinners and well…." She turned away and tried to fight back the tears. She said nothing more and she didn't have to, I could fill in the gaps.

In a twisted sort of way, it was a good thing Sarah had wandered so far from the school. If the Sinners knew where the school was, the casualties would've been a lot worse than one little girl. I doubted that even Sheriff Parker would be able to deal with their ferocity. From what I'd seen of him, I wasn't that impressed.

"You can put pants back on now." Sarah said after a moment, the smile returning to her lips. I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten that I still had them off; I was feeling quite self-conscious suddenly and I yanked them back on. The whole thing was like out of a comedy skit and we both laughed at it. "C'mon, let's get something to eat."

Later, we made our way to the cafeteria where Sarah and I had to part company momentarily; not only was she the medic but apparently, also one of the cooks. The kids of course got served first. They all lined up eagerly, nearly bowling me over. After that, came us adults. Funny how I was regarding myself as an adult even though I was only sixteen, I guess the Change made everybody grow up or grow old way too fast.

A short time later, I sat down at an empty table; Sheriff Parker gave me the stink eye the whole time, making it obvious that I wasn't going to be joining him or those he sat with for supper. Kaylee marched up to my table and sat down with a grin wider than Mississippi river on her face along with three of her friends, all little girls about her age. "Can we sit with you Claude?" she asked sweetly.

I had to chuckle at that. "Yeah, of course you can Kaylee." I replied. They all sat down and tore into their food with ravenous abandon. I wasn't about to lecture them on their table manners because I was starving too so I mimicked them. I had to admit that it was the _best _cafeteria food that I'd ever had. Probably most of that came from eating something that was prepared by hands other than mine which I had to admit, I wasn't the greatest cook on the planet. They all bombarded me with questions like where was I from and how did I rescue Kaylee, all the while with chewed food coming out of their mouths when they spoke.

The kids all looked up with their mouths full of food and greeted Sarah who was standing behind me. "What have I told you about talking with your mouths full?" she admonished them. They all giggled but went back to eating. One of the kids sitting across from me, Melissa was her name, scooted over to let Sarah sit down. "How's the food?" she asked.

"Best tater tots ever!" I said, making sure I finished chewing my food before I answered; I didn't want Sarah mad at me. The kids giggled again. We continued our meal, punctuated with sporadic conversation before we all put our trays in the back of the kitchen when we were finished. Once that was done, Sarah showed me where I could sleep. "I should go in the morning…" I began.

"Why?" She asked, honestly bewildered.

"Well, I have to keep going." I said slowly. "I have to… I just have to go."

She paused for a moment and looked at the ground deep in thought. "Look, you're leg isn't healed up yet plus you don't have any supplies. You said you left them behind when you rescued Kaylee right? How about you stay at least until your leg gets better. Once that happens, then you know, you can leave, how would that be?"

I had to admit, she had some good points. I was eager to get going but at the same time, what was the rush? I slowly nodded in agreement which made her smile.

"Good night Claude."

"Good night Sarah."

I found myself looking at her a lot longer than I should have as she walked away.

The days passed much quicker than I unexpectedly wanted them to. Part of my reluctance of having the time pass had mostly to do with Sarah. We spent every day together just talking and learning about each other. She was a college student working as a nurse's assistant at the school for money and credits when the Change happened. Since she lived in Seattle it she thought it was too dangerous to venture out on her own (correctly so), she decided to stay behind to help watch over the children while waiting for help that would never arrive.

It was amazing how we clicked so well despite how opposite we were. She was three years older than me and already in college and a country girl at heart despite being from Seattle while I was a junior in high school and couldn't have told the difference between a Douglas Fir and a Palm Tree if it hadn't been for my grandpa. We admittedly did have things in common like our love for Star Wars for example. She'd throw out Yoda quotes unexpectedly that caught me off guard at first but when I got them, it raised her cool points with me. Given the circumstances, I guess I was the only one closest to her age that she could relate to. But it felt like it was more than just relating to each other; there was a chemistry there that I'd only felt with Vanessa.

When I hung out with Sarah and the kids, Vanessa was the furthest thing from my mind but when I found myself alone, she came back to my thoughts along with overwhelming pangs of guilt for thinking about Sarah. I was hoping that the attraction was just all in my head, that maybe after all the loneliness and death that I'd dealt with that I was just latching onto anybody in Vanessa's absence. That's what I hoped at least. As the days passed, my reasons for going back to L.A. began to diminish ever so slightly and in a weird, twisted way, that scared me.

Over time, I became Sarah's unofficial helper. It was a title that I didn't mind tacking on. Kaylee sure didn't mind; when she wasn't hanging all over Sarah, she was following me around like a puppy. Sarah pointed out to me that Kaylee didn't hang out much around the other kids, not that this wasn't lost on me, I'd noticed it too. To that end, mostly to keep them out of her hair, Sarah and the kids started a garden; the food wouldn't last indefinitely and if we were staying we'd need supplies that could be replenished. The kids dug into the project eagerly and their zeal was contagious. It was the first time I'd ever planted a garden and though I didn't have a green thumb, I had to admit, working the soil with the hoe was fun.

Kaylee was never far from my side during our duties. I could tell Sarah and I were on the same wavelength when it came to her; Kaylee's trauma made her latch onto the two people she could trust the most. Some nights when I went to bed, I'd hear Kaylee wake up screaming, waking up everybody in the building. Then I'd hear Sarah's feet padding down the hallway to comfort her and coo her back to sleep.

I always got up to check on Kaylee too but by the time I got there, she quietly sobbing into Sarah's chest; Sarah would see me and motion for me to go back to bed, letting me know that she had things handled. I was suddenly angry, not at her obviously but at what was done to her. I couldn't imagine having to go through the rest of my life with something like being violated always weighing heavy on my mind.

One day, the kids saw me practicing and of course the boys in the group were enamored. Most of them had only seen a sword only in the movies, never in real life. "Could you teach us how to do that?" One of the boys, Matt was his name, startled me out of my concentration with his question.

"Oh, I dunno. This is kind of…." I stopped myself in mid-sentence. I was about to say "dangerous" but considering the times we were living in and after all that I'd been through; maybe teaching them some self-defense wouldn't be a bad thing. "Oh, alright. You have to do every I say though okay? Do you understand?" The boys all nodded eagerly in unison; they reminded me of bobble-heads and the image made me grin. I was the same way when I first wanted to learn Kendo. Kaylee always my ever-present shadow, had a grin as wide as the boys. Out of all of them, I was glad to be teaching her the most after what she'd been through.

Every day, the boys, Kaylee and I would meet together for an hour to practice. Under normal circumstances, I would've _never _thought myself good enough to teach anybody anything but I had to admit that the experience was somewhat rewarding. Boys would be boys and I would have to separate them every so often when they got too rambunctious but other than that, I didn't have to discipline them often and my discipline usually involved threatening to stop teaching them. I didn't have the heart to raise my voice at them. Just because I was disciplined didn't mean I was a _disciplinarian_. Actually, Kaylee served as my "iron hand." I'd never seen anybody so fearsome and the boys actually _backed down._ I found it hilarious but I did my best to keep my laughter to myself and keep a straight face.

Even Kaylee's girlfriends got in on it after awhile. I guessed they didn't like feeling left out at what was becoming the popular trend. Finding makeshift _bokken _was easy since there were plenty of tree branches around. We found some old baseball catcher's gear that served as armor but unfortunately since there was only one set, the kids would have to share and sparring sessions would have to go one at a time. I was always the one they sparred with since I had the best control and they couldn't hurt me. When they practiced with each other, I had them work on their technique at the slowest speed possible to avoid any accidents.

After practice one day, Kaylee and I were sitting together; my eyes drifted off and followed Sarah's frame in the distance, working with some of the kids in the garden. "You like Sarah don't you?" she blurted out. The remark caught me off guard to say the least and I choked on my saliva. I had a coughing fit that lasted for over a minute.

"What makes you say that?" I asked after managing to catch my breath.

Kaylee just giggled at my embarrassment. "It's just a guess. What about Vanessa though? Don't you still love her?"

"Of course I do Kaylee!" I said suddenly guilty. "Sarah and I….we're just friends, honest."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I think Sarah likes you too. I see her sometimes and she seems lonely, sort of like you." Before I could answer her, Sarah rang the bell signaling that it was supper time. Kaylee gave me a kiss on the cheek and got up.

Like roaming cattle, with the help with the few adults on the premises, we herded an extremely reluctant Kaylee and her friends back inside as the sun began to set. I noticed for what seemed like the first time how pretty the sunset was as the dark, golden light spread all over everything including the tall pine trees which mixed in with its dark green boughs.

Once that was done, Sarah and I observed our usual ritual of bullshitting about the days' events and life in general. Mostly it was her talking about what she wanted to be when she got out of college and when it was my turn to talk, me talking about Vanessa . "So that's why you're trying to go to L.A., to find her?" Sarah asked me.

"Yeah" I replied, my mind adrift on memories of Vanessa.

"You know, she's a lucky girl. I wish some guy would do that for me."

"You don't have a boyfriend?" I asked in surprise and maybe a little too much curiosity/eagerness in my voice.

"I wouldn't call Pete a boyfriend exactly" she said with a giggle. "I liked him more than he liked me. He was a senior and…well you can probably guess how that turned out."

Also as usual, the sheriff stared at us or rather _me _with a disdain so palpable that if it he could shape it into a solid object, he'd kill me with just a look.

We were walking through the forest; it reminded me of something of I'd read out of Lord of the Rings. She wore a button down brown shirt that was too baggy for her and I guessed she got from somebody else's closet somewhere and some khaki pants. "So, you know how to use that thing?" Sarah asked abruptly; I was taken off guard, trying to figure out what she meant. Obviously I was thinking about something completely different from what she was talking about. She motioned toward my Katana that I was carrying in my right hand.

"Yeah, I know how to use it."

"I guess you would. You saved Kaylee after all and you never seem to part with it the whole time I've known you. Were you born with that thing in your hands? Your mom's labor must've been really rough."

I chuckled as I looked down at the Katana in my hands. "Sorry, I guess after all that's happened, it's just become a part of me. If I left it somewhere, I'd probably suffer from post-partum depression or something." As usual, her smile lit up the forest more than the sun ever could. "Actually, it's something my teacher taught me. He called it 'marrying your hand to the blade.' The more I carry it and practice with it, the more I get used to its heft so it's not cumbersome. Hey, you want to learn how to use it?" I asked.

A quizzical look crossed her features which were punctuated by a smile which I could only define as mischievous. "Yeah, sure okay." she replied. I pulled out the Katana and placed it in her hands hilt first. She made like a Samurai in the movies, swinging the sword wildly, making kung fu movie noises. "Okay 'Obi Wan' teach me all that you know."

The next few days, I showed her the basic positions that I'd learned. She was completely, one-hundred percent serious as I began to teach her. I guess the end of the world as we knew it and the safety of a bunch of children cut the horseplay in her mind super-quick. When she messed up which was a lot, I corrected her stance or grip. I noticed that she was a _huge _perfectionist. She was one of those types that if she didn't get it right the first time, she'd get pissed off. I'd seen it before but especially in training. I had to remind her that I'd been practicing Kendo for years, that didn't stop her from being upset with herself.

To say that she was a quick learner would've been an understatement. She learned the basic katas in three days. Not bad for someone who was self-described as "far from athletic as it gets." It took me three _months_ to learn those katas; yes, I_ was _jealous.

"Even now, the sheriff doesn't trust me does he? You know, I think he really cares for you Sarah." I said after showing her some more moves one day.

Bashfully, she smiled with what I thought was a twinge of regret on her face. "Yeah, he's kind of grown attached to me. I think he has a crush on me."

"Really?" I asked in surprise. I'll be the first one to admit that even that I was probably the worst at reading people when it came to matters of the heart. Hell, I'd only gotten Vanessa because I was luckier than deserved and I suspected, she might have even felt a little sorry for me though she would've never said it. Maybe that was just my low self-opinion.

"Yeah" she replied. "He's been nice about it and everything, been nothing but a gentleman actually but nothing is going to happen between us."

"Does he know that?"

"Yeah but…" she shrugged, unable to come up with more answers.

I guess it made sense why the sheriff was giving me the stink eye; I'd done the same with guys who looked at Vanessa. I know for me, it was paranoia that someone smarter, better looking, funnier than I was would steal her away from me. Suddenly I felt bad for Sheriff Parker but not _that _bad.

There was a commotion from the direction of the school. Sarah and I looked at each other and hurried toward the sound. When we got there, the staff was trying their best to calm the kids down. One of the adults knelt down by a sobbing child roughly the same age as the kids at the school and the almost still form of a man.

"Please help my daddy!" the boy bawled.

The man's face was full of cuts and bruises and he clutched side while moaning. "Broken rib, probably the floating…one." He gasped out. He was a middle aged man with sandy brown hair that was graying at the temples. Except for his injuries, he looked physically fit, what I imagined a mountain man to be. Actually, he looked a lot like a real-life Reed Richards from the Fantastic Four to me.

Mrs. Evans, one of the kindergarten teachers cradled his head as Sarah knelt by his side. "What's your name sir?" Mrs. Evans asked.

"Martin Scott" he croaked out. He winced as Sarah probed his ribs. She nodded to Mrs. Evans and she motioned for Sheriff Parker and myself to carry him inside. "I'm…doctor. Can talk you through…" he started to say as we gently picked him up. Sarah followed behind Parker and I as we took him to the nurse's office

I could see Sarah was visibly nervous when we laid Martin on the bed. "What's the matter?" I asked her.

"These are serious injuries Claude, I've never dealt with anything like this before." She said. Her hands were shaking.

My hand found her face and caressed her cheek. "He said he can talk you through this, you'll be fine." I assured her. Besides, there's nobody else here that can help him out." He moaned again which caught both of our attention. "He needs your help Sarah. I'll be here for moral support if you want it." Reluctantly, she nodded and turned her attention to Martin.

"Everybody out!" she commanded with a sudden confidence which I suspected surprised even her. I started to file out with everybody else but she motioned for me to stay. What I saw made me cringe. I figured Sarah being a pre-med student and all would be immune to the sound of cracking bones and blood but even she looked green. As good as his word and despite the pain, Martin talked her through how to fix him up. He suspected that he didn't have any internal bleeding which was a wonderful thing; there would've been absolutely _nothing _she could've done for him if that was the case.

There weren't a lot of medical grade drugs in the nurse's office so Martin had to settle for child level pain killers. He groaned in agony but the level of pain he was in had visibly decreased. He eventually settled into a fitful sleep.

"So, what's the prognosis doc?" I said when we stepped out of the office, trying to lighten the mood.

"He needs actual drugs, not this crap we have in the nurse's office!" she snapped. Her anger wasn't just because of Martin, I figured this was weeks of almost single-handedly trying to keep everything together. It wasn't that the staff wasn't doing their part but normal people trying to keep children safe during a crisis and the logistics that entailed had to be a nightmare.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you Claude." She said. "It's just that I was afraid something like this was going to happen sooner or later. We just don't have the supplies for a sustained stay here and just moving everybody out to somewhere else is just not practical."

"Well, you could stay here indefinitely I guess, but yeah you'd need the supplies. But where would you get them?"

She paused in thought but the look that crossed her features worried me. "The only place we can go to get that stuff is into town."

She was right and I didn't see as we had much of a choice. "When do we go?" I asked. Sure I was reluctant but I wouldn't let her go alone; I'd be by her side no matter what.

"As soon as possible. Besides, we're going to need other supplies too." She replied. The determination set on her face said that she would not be denied.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Night had fallen deep and black when we finished hitching up makeshift pull carts to the backs of bikes. I rigged up a strap to carry the Katana on my back to make riding easier, making me look like some kind of makeshift anime warrior. "I'm coming with you" Sheriff Parker told Sarah.

"No, you have to stay here and look out for everybody while we're gone." He was obviously displeased with that answer. "Look, I know exactly what to look for and no offense but Claude and I are younger and can move faster. It's not a knock against you Jim but Mr. Scott needs the medicine as soon as possible. "

I could feel the heat rising of Sheriff Parker in waves but he couldn't argue with her logic. He nodded slightly and backed off. The one question that none of asked which we should have from the get-go, was who or _what_ gave Mr. Scott those injuries.

"Besides, the place needs protection Jim and you're the most qualified." Sarah said as if reading my mind. "We'll return as soon as possible." With that, we pedaled away. I stole a glance behind me to see the sheriff staring at our receding backs momentarily before he went inside.

My legs held up fine under the strain of pedaling much to my relief. I felt like an idiot for not thinking of taking a bike when I began my trek towards home instead of walking. It's the little things that tended to get missed I supposed. The carts clattered behind us on the rough roads and I wondered how we were going to get everything we needed back up to the school without having to stop every thirty feet to put stuff back into the carts when they came spilling out. I decided I'd worry about that later.

Ravensdale Hospital was little more than a small care center on the east side of town. The stores and homes surrounding it looked much the same as the center of town from when I first came in. In fact, I estimated it was maybe only three blocks from where I came in. We got off our bikes and strode into the abandoned building carefully, my hand on the hilt of my Katana the whole time. Sarah pulled some lanterns out of her backpack and I'm talking about old-school, Salem Witch Trials era type of lanterns.

"Where'd you get those?" I asked in surprise.

"I found them in the basement." She said as she lit the both of them and handed me one. The shadows that it cast were long and deep, deeper than the darkness of the night outside. I kept expecting a bunch of zombies to suddenly pop out of nowhere.

I saw a rat run across the floor which made me whip out my blade and nearly made me drop my lantern. "What the _fuck!" _I yelped, my heart pounding in my chest. Me jumping out of my skin caused Sarah to scream a little. After a moment we both caught our breath. "It was just a rat." I said once my pulse returned to normal human levels.

"Yeah, just a rat" she repeated. "Let's keep going."

Neither of us knew our way around the place so we kept looking for anything that might've been a dispensary or something. There was a rancid, rotting meat smell that permeated the air the deeper we went into the place.

"What is that smell?" She asked. Unfortunately, my experiences on the road told me exactly what that smell was. I'd smelled it too many times already since this whole madness began; it was the stench of death. I figured it was probably some people who died when their life support clicked off or maybe were abandoned when the staff all panicked and went for help or a thousand different reasons that I couldn't begin to speculate on.

"Let's keep going." I merely replied. I knew she'd figure it out sooner or later but considering the circumstances, the less she knew the better, at least until the job was done. We got to a different wing of the hospital and mercifully, the smell of antiseptics and spoiled food masked the death smell enough to keep my mind on the task at hand. We saw a sign on a door that said stock room and she tried to open it but it wouldn't budge. "Allow me" I said bowing slightly. With all of my weight, I put my shoulder into the door two times before it gave way. I rubbed my sore shoulder but I had a crooked grin on my face.

Sarah gave with a slight curtsy and walked in. "_Yes!" _she exclaimed as she shined her light on the wall. There were drugs on the shelves though the shelves were slightly looted. I guessed some of the staff took the drugs before they set off. "Good, the painkiller that Martin told me is here along with some insulin and other stuff." She opened her bag and we both started dumping the drugs in there.

After our task was finished, we made our way out of the hospital, feeling really good about ourselves. A look passed on her face like she just figured out what that earlier smell was. She stopped in her tracks and put her hand over her mouth. "C'mon, let's get out of here." I said, trying to keep her mind on other things and get her moving. "Do you know any songs?"

"Why?" she asked, looking green around the gills.

"Makes the time pass by quicker you know?" I replied.

She was silent at first but as we started pedaling away, she started singing. Up until that point, I'd never heard her sing before, not even to the kids. Her voice was beautiful, haunting. When she finished, I was stunned, bereft of anything to say for a few moments.

"Wow that was the prettiest thing I ever heard. You sure you weren't a singer before all of this? What, afraid that people will come begging you for your autograph?"

I got her laughing and that was a good thing. The color returned to her face. "No, it's a song my mom used to sing to me. It's called 'Johnny Guitar.' It's one of my favorite songs."

"Really? Who sings it?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Peggy Lee. You know, the chick who sang 'Fever?' Yeah, whenever I'd get upset, she'd sing it to me. It always calmed me down. Guess it did the trick now."

"Well it's beautiful, like you are." I said. She blushed but I wished I could've taken back the last part of my sentence. I was falling for her and I knew that I shouldn't. "Center of town, coming right up." I said, changing the subject.

The town center of Ravensdale looked exactly like the town center of Maple Valley, right down to the abandoned cars and litter on the street. It was eerie and brought back flashbacks of having to burn a man with acid and stabbing another in the throat to rescue a brutalized little girl. I shuddered slightly as I pulled my bike to a stop. "Claude, are you okay?" Sarah asked me; it was her turn to calm me down. Funny how we kept switching roles like that.

"Yeah, I'm cool." I reassured her.

"Good, because we don't have long. Let's get what we need and get out of here." The plan was to grab as many "essential" supplies as possible and get back to the school. Things like tools, any dried food, stuff to board up the windows, anything that could be considered useful which was a pretty subjective term. A lot of places were already looted so we took what we could. We found a clothing store and Sarah looked at me. "You know, we _can _take a five minute break." She said with a mischievous smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Claude let's face it, the 'teenager in old man's clothes' look is _so _dead. You could stand to freshen up your wardrobe."

"You're thinking about clothes at a time like this? Is this a girl thing?" I asked chuckling.

"Jackass." She replied, chucking me in my shoulder. "It's not just for you, everybody could use some extra clothes especially when winter comes. Seriously, you should get some different clothes yourself, clothes that fit and aren't as…well, smelly."

I looked down at myself and figured she was right. I'd been wearing Mr. Dickerson's clothes for so long without a change I'd completely forgotten about them. "I suppose I could use a change of clothes." I agreed slowly. We went into a general store that had seen better days. Shining our lanterns inside, we saw all sorts of items strewn about. Not wasting time, we started grabbing handfuls of clothes and putting them into the carts. Luckily, there were some heavy jackets and blankets left that would definitely come in handy.

Taking her advice, I changed out of Mr. Dickerson's baggy gear and changed into some cargo pants and a khaki shirt that fit me. I was definitely grateful to find some boots that fit me. When I was finished, I felt like a new man. "You look like the black 'Indiana Jones.'" Sarah said as I looked at myself in the mirror. "You're just missing the fedora."

"And the bullwhip, leather jacket and sex appeal that all the women love about Harrison Ford."

"Well yeah true, but at least you have the boots."

"You like?"

"Yeah, it looks nice."

Something shiny reflected in the light caught the corner of my eye. I went to what was left of the jewelry counter. Just like the rest of the store, everything had been looted of the good stuff. I picked up a necklace that barely passed for silver. It was something junior high school kids gave to their girlfriends because it was all they could afford. I walked over to Sarah and put it on her neck. "Here, you should wear this." I said.

She was kind of taken aback at first. "It's beautiful, cheap but beautiful." She said after a moment.

"Without you, it's just a necklace." I replied.

"Claude, I don't think I should take this. It wouldn't be right."

"I don't think the rules apply anymore Sarah."

Again she paused, lost in concentration. "You know, you're right." She answered. On impulse, I leaned forward and kissed her. She didn't resist, in fact she responded with equal passion. Maybe it was because death was constantly looming over us or maybe it was because my quest seemed so pointless but kissing her felt like the most natural thing in the world. I didn't know how much time had passed when we broke contact but it felt like forever. I didn't want to think about Vanessa at that point but when I did, I felt instantly felt horrible for kissing Sarah.

"We should head back." I said, trying to deal with the maelstrom or emotions roiling within me.

"Yeah, we should." Sarah said, sensing my change in mood.

The whole ride back, I was fighting a war within me. I had a good thing going with Sarah, a sure thing. Not only that, Kaylee and the other kids needed me, gave me a sense of fulfillment that I hadn't felt in a long time. Vanessa was hundreds of miles away and could've been dead for all I knew. Yet, I made a promise to her, to myself. If it wasn't for the memory of our love, I'd be dead. Was I wrong for giving into temptation like I did? I'd asked these questions before but they were more profound after our kiss.

It wasn't until we'd gotten back to the school that my focus finally shifted somewhere else. Out in front of the school on the yard was the still form of a human being. Even in the darkness, I could easily make out the shape of Mrs. Evans. From a huge gash in her throat, her blood looked like ink in the pale moonlight and ran through the grass, attracting all sorts of insects to her corpse. Sarah put a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream. Whoever had attacked Martin Scott and his son was here.

Everything was eerily silent save for the slight breeze ruffling through the trees. The wind made Mrs. Evans' hair ruffle slightly giving the impression that she was merely resting and not dead. The effect was very unnerving on Sarah and I; she crept close to me and gripped my arm while putting her hand over her mouth trying to stifle a scream. The shuddering of her body reverberated through me.

"Oh my God Claude, the kids…." She managed to croak out.

"I know Sarah, I know." I said trying to sound braver than I actually felt. Overly brave is something nobody ever accused me of and indeed, my flight response was screaming for me to gather Sarah and get the hell out of there. It was shameful that I wanted to leave all those kids to those monsters' tender mercies but that was me being honest and it was _a _part of me. The other part of me took great pleasure in reminding me of one thing; Kaylee was in there with those assholes and they were doing God knows what to her and those other kids. That thought pissed me off and served to steady me.

"Sarah, I want you to stay here and don't come in no matter what happens, you understand?" I said, turning to her.

At first she started to protest but then thought the better of it. "Please be careful" was what she ended up saying before holding me close and kissing me deeply. It was like something out of a movie; a cliché where the hero is about to go off to this great battle and the girl gives him a kiss for luck. Unfortunately, the whole gesture had a sense of finality to it. Still, I savored the taste of her warm sweet breath in my mouth as we broke apart.

Slowly, I crept to the front door. As I crept past the corpse on the ground, I had to do my damndest to avert my eyes lest I became fixated on her. There was nobody guarding the front from what I could see and why would there be? This was a school not a fortress; rules had changed at the fundamental level since the Change. Whoever was in there, I doubted they were expecting any kind of rescue attempt to take place. It wasn't like the police would show up with a S.W.A.T. team or anything. Like it or not, I was the rescue party.

When the door creaked open it felt like it echoed throughout the whole premises. My breath caught in my throat and I did an impression of a statue that would make even the worlds' greatest mimes jealous. I cursed Sarah and everybody who ever worked at the school for not oiling the hinges and shooed the thought from my mind as quickly as it appeared.

On my tiptoes, I crept through the hallways. In the dark, the halls looked more ominous than I was used to. My heart beat so fast and hard in my chest that I imagined that everybody in the building could hear the sound. I reminded myself that that was stupid but I couldn't shake the feeling.

In the distance, I could hear the sound of footsteps echoing off the linoleum floors. During the course of the weeks, I'd gotten used to all of the adults footsteps and Kaylee and a few of her friends, so much so that I could determine who was approaching. The footsteps I heard now were heavy and the gait was like none I'd heard. I pressed myself up against a wall with the deepest shadows and withdrew grandpa's knife.

I debated taking whoever it was out right then and there but I had no idea how many were of them were inside the building. If I killed this guy, would it send an army out? But what if it was just one or two people? What if the guy was bigger than me and ready for trouble, could I even take him out? It wasn't like I was Rambo though I'd seen all the movies. As I'd found out through painful experience, movies and real life rarely coincided. The indecision was killing me and if I wasn't careful, would get me _killed_.

My decision was made for me as the footsteps stopped, pivoted on its heel with a squeak on the linoleum and walked in the other direction. Relief washed over me as I sheathed my knife. On impulse, I followed the sound, being careful to follow at a close distance. On the floor was a trail of blood that gave the floor a sick sheen. I could hear the whimpering of the children up ahead in one of the classrooms. A gruff voice told them, "Shut the fuck up!" which raised my hackles up.

"Ed, what'd you see? You find that noise?" the gruff voice I heard earlier said as Ed walked into the classroom.

"It was nothing man, just my imagination I guess." Ed replied. Again I cursed that damned squeaky door.

What I saw when I peeked through the little glass slot in the door matched the horror in my imagination. In the waning moonlight peering through the slatted windows, the kids were on the ground, scared out of their wits. I counted two men including Ed and one woman standing over the kids. Stenciled on the vests on their backs, my heart grew cold at the sight. They were "Sinners," just like the guys I rescued Kaylee from back in Maple Valley. I couldn't believe my rotten luck; I thought I'd washed my hands of these guys but they manage to end up in the same place I sought refuge in!

Not only that, some of the kids looked like how Kaylee did when I rescued her. In a corner of the room, Sheriff Parker laid groaning and holding his side, blood seeping through his fingers. His face was a mess; the Sinners had really worked him over. Now I knew where the trail of blood came from. If I had to hazard a guess, I figured they wanted to make his death long and slow. Him being a cop, he probably tried to do something heroic and so he got it really bad. That's what I was guessing at least.

A little recon was in order so I crept away from the window; I was hoping that was the only Sinners in the building. Also, I didn't see the other adults in the room, just Parker and the kids. I hoped they weren't all dead like Mrs. Evans or generally fucked up like Sheriff Parker.

My ears were straining for even the slightest sound other than my own breathing and the whimpering of the children far away but thankfully I heard nothing else. I took care to stay on the balls of my feet to avoid making any sound as I headed down the hallway. Something caught my eye on the ground, it was blood pooling from underneath the door of storage closet.

Something told me that I knew I wouldn't like what I was going to find; of all the things in the world I didn't want to do, I definitely didn't want to open the closet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath centering myself, knowing I had to do it. The grisly sight that confronted me confirmed my worst fears. Stuffed in the closet was the rest of the staff in assorted ways that reminded me of a human jigsaw puzzle. Desperately, I swallowed down the bile rising up in my throat causing me to gag. Even then, when I threw my hand over my mouth, a bit of vomit went through my fingers. I spit out the rest of it on the ground, retching for a few moments. When I finally stopped convulsing, that's when I heard footsteps coming in my direction from the classroom.

The footfalls belonged to Ed, the Sinner; I recognized the gait from earlier. Seemingly of its own volition, my knife appeared in my hand. I stepped into the shadows, still trying to steady my shaking hands. There was some fear but mostly anger. It was exactly how I felt when I first went to rescue Kaylee but more intense; the faculty didn't deserve what they got and neither did those kids.

Ed's visage appeared before me, holding a tire iron in one hand and a candle in the other. In the dark, his thick brown beard appeared as an outline by the candlelight. He was like all the other Sinners that I'd seen so far, big, muscular and moved with a physicality that brimmed with menace. Unlike the others however, his hair was cut short in almost a crew cut. Even in the dim light, I could see the tattoos that decorated his entire arm.

"What the hell's all that racket?" He said low to himself. He saw the closet open and went to close it. "How that get open?" His hand was on the doorknob when he saw me. There was a moment that all time froze; we looked at each other, him in surprise at seeing me and me with nothing but murderous intensity. The knife plunged into his throat and his eyes somehow went wider from the shock if it could be believed.

His weight dragged us both to the ground with a slam. I jammed the blade into his throat three or four more times, my face scrunched up in fury. His blood sprayed all over me as I continued to hack away at him, grunting angrily the whole time. To my surprise, the blade snapped and all I was left with was the hilt. I looked at the hilt in shock; I'd heard that those catalogue blades that grandpa loved were of cheap quality. Up until that point I didn't believe it but I couldn't deny the evidence in my hand.

Standing up, my regain my breath and put the hilt in my pocket. My hand was sticky as it went for the Katana slung on my back. Ed lay dead on the floor, his eyes still wide as if he were still trying to figure out what just happened. His blood pool mingled with the pool of blood from the faculty just beginning to dry. "No more." I whispered to myself as I began to march toward the classroom. It occurred to me that I didn't see Mr. Scott in the closet with the others. That was a good thing; maybe he was still alive but I didn't have time to ponder that.

Stopping in my tracks, I pivoted on my heel and went back to Ed's body. I was pretty fargone to come up with a complicated rescue plan but I had presence of mind to behead his body as a taunt to the Sinners. Honestly, it was move more borne out of savagery than intellect. I'd never truly tested the Katana's sharpness but it didn't let me down; the blade cleaved through Ed's flesh and bone quickly and cleanly. The head rolled from the corpse with a thunk. Because of the crew cut, I couldn't pick up the head by the hair like in the movies so I had to tuck it under my left arm. There was no revulsion however as I picked it up and resumed my march back to the classroom.

Anger is a funny thing; it can come and go at any time, cloud your judgment or make your thinking sharper. For me, it receded a little and made me realize what a stupid thing I was about to do. My first reaction was to just march in the classroom and cut all the Sinners down before they could react but the odds of me pulling that off were slim. I still had the element of surprise on my side and I had to preserve what I could of it.

There was no elaborate plan that I could think of except wait for them to come out one by one to see what happened to Ed or to hit the can but I was feeling really impatient. I thought about my ploy back in Maple Valley against the Sinners earlier but decided against it. If they were somehow convinced they were threatened by a greater force, I was certain they would take hostages and that was something I was not prepared to deal with. The kids soft moans got to me and quashed any notion I had of waiting. Instead, I snuck past the classroom and back to the entrance, making my way outside of the classroom window. I placed the Katana on the ground and with a great heave; I threw the head through the window.

Inside the room everybody from the kids to the Sinners screamed out in fright. _Good_ I thought, I wanted them to be scared. "_Sinners!_" I yelled. "Take a look at your friend there, _I _did that do him! I also offed your friends back at Maple Valley. You know the ones that are missing a face and the other burned to a crisp? _I _did that! If you want some, come get some you fuckers!" I ran from the window and made sure they saw me run. I stopped mid field and flipped them the blood-soaked bird.

"Let's get that fucker!" One of them yelled. I could see them all filing out of the classroom and I breathed a slight sigh of relief. They were getting away from the children and that was a good thing that would leave me free to deal with them without Kaylee and others being used as human shields. I figured seeing that I was alone probably helped with that too. They figured they'd have the advantage in numbers which in that regard, they were absolutely right.

I'd never fought multiple opponents at once before, not even in training. I'd only seen it done in the movies and in a video my sensei showed us students of grandmasters in Japan doing it years ago. I remember beautiful their movements were, almost poetic. I was nowhere even _close _to that level of skill but ready or not the storm was coming for me.

"You're dead you little fucker!" One of them said. From the way he walked and led the pack, he was obviously the leader. He wasn't overly big like Ed or the other Sinners I fought surprisingly. He was lithe and moved like a coiled spring waiting to be released. Just from his walk I could tell he would be the most dangerous. Even in the darkness and moonlight, the all black that he wore looked even darker than it normally would. The thick, black mustache on his lip bristled as he approached, tapping a baseball bat with a spike driven through it in his hand.

"You killed Ed, you're gonna lose your balls!" The girl said, brandishing a switchblade. If she wasn't such a psychopathic bitch, she might've been pretty hot. She was about five feet, five with brown hair that was messily spread all over her face. Her nose was aquiline and she had this pixie like air about her, like under normal circumstances she'd be sexily mischievous. She was bit on the skinny side probably from some malnutrition and a bit dirty but had rock hard abs that even I could see underneath her ripped biker shirt; I found her strangely erotic despite myself.

The third guy totally shot down the stereotype that all evil guys were supposed to be ugly. Even as a heterosexual teenager who couldn't stop thinking about female body parts, I had to admit that this guy was handsome. He was definitely the "bad-boy" type that chicks seemed to go for, he radiated the aura actually. I've _always _hated bad-boys; I hated them even more so when they were also "pretty-boys" so instinctively I wanted to kill that guy first. He had sandy brown hair and wide blue eyes that sparkled in the moonlight with malice. What was disturbing about this guy was his silence. Yeah the leader was the most dangerous one but "pretty bad-boy" was easily the scariest.

"I'm going to give you guys' one chance to get out of here, alive or you're going to die pure and simple." I said with false bravado. I hoped they couldn't see my hands shake in the darkness. If I took them one on one I had a chance, but it was guaranteed they'd rush me. I wondered if it was too late to ask them to fight me one at a time.

"What, you didn't bring your boys this time?" Pretty-boy said to me.

"Nah that was a trick. I knew you dumbfucks would fall for it so that's why I did it." I replied. Meanwhile my mind was racing; I was trying to predict which one would attack me first but I just wasn't sure. I think the only thing that kept them from rushing me was the length of my blade which gave me some reach. The leader's bat was almost as big as my sword but I think even he knew that steel versus wood wasn't a good match up. Pretty-boy with his machete was the next dangerous but his machete was smaller than my Katana. The psycho-bitch with her switchblade had no chance. I figured at some point she'd try to attack from behind.

They started to flank me and I slowly began to back up, giving them ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sarah hiding in the bushes; I couldn't see her features in the darkness but I imagined she was terrified at the scene, I couldn't blame her. I decided on doing the one thing they wouldn't expect, hell I didn't expect it and that was to rush them.

Charging at the girl, she was unprepared for attack but luckily for her she stumbled out of the way of my slash. I had hoped to hit her but this was actually designed as a feint because never stopping my movement, I dashed toward the woods. "Get him!" I heard the leader shout behind me. Their footsteps thudded on the soft mud and pine needles as they chased me.

My only chance was to break them up, try to take them one by one if I could. I hid behind a tree and gripped my sword tightly to my chest. My breath came out as steam that wafted into the cool night air. I struggled to get my breathing under control as well as my heartbeat which pounded in my chest like a jackhammer. I peered from behind the tree to see them crashing into the underbrush.

The woods were dark and scary, not even the moon shone through the treetops. I had to hope that despite their numbers, they'd be feeling the same kind of fear that I was. On impulse, I took off my shirt, hoping my black skin would better camouflage me in the darkness. From their footsteps, I could tell they split off in different directions to better find me which was exactly what I wanted. Their steps were cautious and like me, they did their best to control their breathing so as to give away as little sound as possible.

As if by serendipity, the pretty-boy was closest to me. My grip tightened on my sword as he approached. Anticipation filled my very being; it was like when I ambushed and killed Ed. A funny thing occurred to me in those few seconds; before the world changed, the only time I thought about strategy and how to kill somebody was when I was playing a videogame or Dungeons and Dragons with my friends. Since the Change, I'd killed many people and the fact that I was preparing to kill another person didn't bother me at all, only that I might get killed scared me. That dealing out death was becoming such a commonplace fact of life for me spoke volumes about how much things truly had changed. Did that mean I was turning into a psychopath? If I wasn't scared out of my wits, I would've laughed about that question. Strangely, this thought comforted me and helped to steady my hand.

Prematurely, I swung my blade at "Pretty-Boy's" neck. He was a lot faster than I gave him credit for because he brought up the machete to parry the blow just in time. The two blades connected with each other with a few sparks that briefly lit up the darkness. Fortunately for me, my attack caught him off guard and he was having trouble adjusting. He lashed out clumsily; his machete was aimed for my heart in a stabbing motion. My training kicked in instinctively and I countered with a _Kote kaeshi men_, counterstrike. The flat of my Katana deflected his machete knocking him off balance. Before he could bring his blade up to protect himself, my blade was already crashing down on the top of his head. The blade split his skull in two, cutting him off in mid-scream.

Blood and brain matter splashed all over my face and naked chest. It was the first time I'd ever killed anybody with an actual katana blade, chopping off Ed's head from his dead body obviously didn't count. My instructor always told me that a blade actually needs very little force to cut, gravity and momentum does most of the work but I was still amazed at seeing the results firsthand.

From behind me, I heard his friend's footsteps running toward my position. It was now two on one, the odds were getting better and despite myself, I barely counted the psycho-bitch as a threat. Deep down, I knew that was a mistake but I couldn't help myself. The two sighted me before I had a chance to dash to cover. Instead of running away, I figured on trying the same gambit from before and charging the two.

There's an old saying that my grandpa loved to quote when I was foolish that applied when I rushed them, "going to the well once too many times." Hoping to scatter them again and by myself some time, this time they were ready. The girl split off and the leader met my attack head on, bring his spiked bat down to bear. I parried the blow but the force of the impact staggered me causing me to shuffle back. A surprised scream escaped my lips as the force of the blow reverberated through my arm.

Me underestimating the psycho-bitch were well founded because I felt something sharp dig into the back of my shoulder-blade. Hot pain lanced through my body and I yelled out as she jumped on my back. She was small and normally I could piggy-back someone her size no problem but her weight began to drag me down to the ground. "Die you motherfucker!" She yelled as her arm constricted around my throat and she twisted the knife in my back. My left arm went stiff and useless as I sank to a knee. I barely managed to bring my blade up to parry the leader's incoming attack. With only one hand, I couldn't deflect the blow as well I normally would with two hands. My sword flew from my grasp and landed in the dark woods somewhere.

Things were getting really bad for me so I went into desperation mode. There was a comedian though I couldn't remember his name who said, "If you have to use your head as a weapon in a fight, things are _really _fucked up." When I slammed my head backward into the woman's face, I realized how right he was. Pain shot through my skull and sat there and throbbed.

What I was feeling was nowhere close to what _she _was feeling though. I heard the sound of cartilage and teeth cracking when my head connected with her face. I felt the warm stickiness of blood coat the entire back of my head. She screamed in agony and loosened her grip on me, allowing me to slide free of her just as the bat came crashing down again. A split-second slower and the leader would've caved in my skull; instead his blow merely caused some mud to fly everywhere.

The spike on his bat carved a nice gash onto my chest with his follow up swing. I yelled out and stumbled backward. My blood mixed with the blood of the pretty-boy still caked on there. He brought his weapon down again but I managed to catch the bat where the handle met the business end. Still, the impact hurt my hand but I managed to hold on. He was much stronger than me and easily wrenched the bat away from my grasp, following up with a vicious kick to my jaw that made me see stars explode behind my eyes. Blood sprayed from my mouth all over the greenery. I fell to the ground and rolled like a fallen log a few feet.

It was the biggest cliché in the world but my life literally flashed before my eyes as the leader stood over me, ready to strike the death blow, savoring the moment. The image that I saw most in my mind was Vanessa. I felt guilty for giving in to weakness and kissing Sarah, for breaking my promise to her. But Vanessa wasn't chastising me, she was screaming for me to fight, to live. Despite her protestations, I couldn't do it; I knew it was the end for me.

"Say goodbye kid." The leader smirked. Just as he was about to finish me off, his expression changed from a sadistic smile to a startled frown. His eyes went wider as a sharp stick poked through his abdomen. He turned around to reveal Sarah standing behind him, angry tears soaking her face. "You….you _bitch!" _He roared as he unloaded with a closed backhand that caught Sarah across the jaw sending her flying. She hit the ground with a sick thud and she lay still.

That rage that I felt earlier returned with a new, magnified intensity. With a snarl, I got to my feet and rammed into him with the full force of my body weight. We both crashed to the ground and rolled into the bushes. We came to a stop and separated. He was divested of his weapon as I was of mine. In fact, there my katana lay in full sight of me. I struggled to my feet and headed toward my sword. Meanwhile, the leader kept his hand over the hole in his stomach, blood gushing out with each pump of his heart as he picked up his bat.

We got our weapons and stood in front of each other. We were both a mess to behold and knew that this melee that we were about to have was to be the last no matter what.

"You're going to die kid."

I shook my head with an evil grin. "No way, I'm sending you to Hell where you belong." I said with no anger or malice in my voice, more of a matter-of-fact tone.

"You can barely lift that pigsticker you're carrying!" He quipped with a snarling laugh. The laugh was meant as a distraction because he came charging at me, his bat swinging with both hands. I could see the blood from his wound spilling all over his pants.

Here's the thing that he didn't know, in Kendo, we're taught to fight with one _or _two hands. Two hands is best because it gives you more control of the blade, but we do practice with one hand as well to build up strength and coordination. I smirked to myself as he swung, letting the training take over once again.

Earlier I thought he didn't look strong, but to fight with his wound and to swing his bat as fast as he was doing took a lot of strength of body and will. I utilized _Hiki men _which means to strike at the head while retreating. He parried my blade with his wild strike but my blow was a feint. He was wide open now and with a yell, I stabbed him in the throat using _Katate tsuki _or "one hand thrust to throat guard." The blade plunged easily like and I hate to use the cliché but, like a hot knife through soft butter. Abruptly, all of his motion ceased and he hung on the end of my blade motionless like a mannequin. His eyes were wide but dead. I withdrew the sword and he collapsed to the ground.

I should've felt satisfaction for not only defeating three opponents at once but avenging all of their victims but instead I felt frustration. "_Why?" _I screamed at the dead body. "Why did you go and do all of this? What the fuck is the matter with you huh?" The pain from my wounds served to right my mind and remember where I was at.

My whole body but specifically, my chest and left shoulder throbbed as I jogged back to Sarah. As I approached her, she looked still and I feared the worst. Tears threatened to come unbidden from my eyes; I didn't think I could handle losing somebody else I was close to. "Sarah?" I whispered desperately as I gathered her into my good arm. "Sarah, please be okay." She stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered open albeit with a glassy expression. I smiled and silently thanked God that she was alive.

She had a nasty bruise on her jaw and her bottom lip was split from where the bastard had hit her but she seemed to be alright other than that. "Claude, are you okay?" She asked, her voice sounding far away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You saved my life pretty lady, I owe you one."

She smiled crookedly as her fingertips brushed my bloody face. "You're a mess." She said with a crooked smile.

"Hey, you don't look like the 1997 homecoming queen right now yourself." I replied with a pain filled grin.

From the darkness, the psychotic female of the trio came crashing toward us, her shiny switchblade in hand. With the wild look in her eyes and face covered in blood, the sight of her was right out of a horror movie, the darkness of the woods adding to the effect. I let Sarah drop and picked up my Katana. In one fluid motion, I thrust it through her heart and withdrew it. Blood gurgled up from her mouth like a geyser as she collapsed to the ground dead.

Sarah winced from where I dropped her and I felt horrible. "Sorry about that, next time I'll be more gentle with you." She only chuckled as she draped her arms around me for support. We sat there in the woods, surrounded by the dead for who knows how long, trying to catch our breath and regain some semblance of humanity.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Over the course of the next few days, we struggled to try to bring some normalcy back into our lives, well as normal as one could be under the circumstances. Sarah bound my and Sheriff Parker's wounds and in turn, we helped to bury the dead. It wasn't much of a funeral; there was too much to say and none of us felt as if we could the words any justice. We didn't even have a Bible, Quran or anything to speak any words from anyway. We buried the bodies in the forest and Sheriff Parker and I dragged the bodies of the Sinners far into the forest for the animals to feast on.

It went without saying that everyone was still shook up and would take a long time before they'd be able to get a good night's sleep. Some good news came our way finally, Mr. Scott or actually, _Doctor _Scott was indeed alive and well; the Sinners overlooked the room where he lay unconscious and he felt well enough to walk around. His son was definitely overjoyed to be reunited with his father. He offered his medical services in gratitude and the fact that he had nowhere else to go.

The kids and I resumed Kendo lessons. After what happened, they more than anybody else I think, needed to take their minds off the terror of that night. Not only that, learning Kendo made them not feel as helpless. We all needed the distraction actually. While class was in session, the kids actually laughed for the first time since that night. It was nice to see that I could help in even some small way. The melancholy remained though. The students took the training for more serious than they ever did and even Kaylee was thrust more in the role of student than my little enforcer. It was nice to see them so focused but it was also sad at the same time. Their innocence was lost, never to be returned.

Also over the next few weeks, some other stragglers came to the school, A couple with their son and daughter who were lost and miraculously found the place. They were Mr. and Mrs. Bill Foster and their son's name was Timothy. Naturally, we welcomed them with open arms. Bill was a carpenter by trade before the Change and his wife worked in an office. Her office skills were useless now but she also knew her way around a kitchen for which Sarah was grateful for.

Sarah and I didn't spend too much time together and this was for a few reasons. For one thing, we were all so busy trying to get back on our feet and tending everybody that there wasn't enough time for personal time. Also, I had a lot on my mind; I kept flashing back to the fight in the woods and the image of Vanessa's face telling me to fight, to live on. I could've passed it off as a hallucination brought on by a near-death experience but it felt like more than that. Besides, when we did manage to spend some time together, I was very distant though I didn't mean to be.

A month and a half passed before things started to get back to normal. Over that time two more people came straggling into the school, Jake Johnston who was a mechanic and lost his family during the Change for reasons he didn't elaborate on. He found the school by chance while making his way to Seattle from near the Oregon border. He was part of a caravan who'd got killed in a rock slide and had nowhere else to go.

Elizabeth Stanfield who used to work in a butcher's shop barely escaped some cannibals though the rest of the group she was traveling with, looking for food and shelter wasn't so lucky. The irony that a butcher had a run in with cannibals wasn't lost on me. She seemed like a nice person but yet her situation smacked of karma almost. Thankfully, no more run ins with the Sinners were reported by anybody though the news about cannibals didn't do anything to lighten anybody's spirits about the current world situation. It wasn't lost on me that the school was becoming more than just a shelter for wayward souls; it was slowly but surely starting to become a _community._

My wounds finally healed up enough to where they didn't bother me anymore though I had some pretty impressive scars to show off; I was amassing quite a collection of them. Thanks to Doctor Scott's expertise and Sarah and Kaylee's tender loving care, I regained my strength rapidly. Speaking of which, Kaylee stuck by me closer than ever; I guess a repeat of that hellish trauma would do that. To tell the truth, I was glad for Kaylee's company; I hadn't been through everything she'd been through but I'd seen enough and the emotional scars I had hadn't healed as completely as the physical ones. I guess nobody's did actually.

Sheriff Parker and I finally made our peace. The way it happened actually came out of the blue and caught me right off guard.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you Claude." He said as we'd got finished nailing some boards to a few loose windows for security. "For what you've done for us and for Sarah especially, I'm grateful to you." He offered his hand and I took it. I wasn't expecting an apology at all and I knew Parker was not one for overly elaborate speeches. I figured that was as good as it was going to get.

"No prob Sheriff." I answered simply. I couldn't hold a grudge, I couldn't afford to, not these days. He grunted as he walked off and I watched him limp into the receding sunset to perform some other errand. As he walked by, he gave Sarah a long look; I guessed that old feelings died hard. I knew exactly how that felt. Ever since the Change, I saw a lot of things that normally I would've taken for granted but these days, they seemed more and more like signs. Vanessa and Sarah's faces swirled about my mind with each waking step. I had an epiphany at that moment and I realized what I had to do. The problem was that it was going to be the hardest thing I'd ever done.

It was early when I rose the next day. Everybody was still asleep and the nocturnal wildlife was still romping around the woods. I went through my daily exercises to help clear my head, it didn't work. I gathered my meager belongings in my duffel bag. Things had quieted down enough for me to make a trip to Maple Valley and sure enough, my duffel bag was right where I left it before I rescued Kaylee. Thank goodness for small favors I supposed. The trip went a lot quicker with a bike. I still kicked myself for not thinking of using a bike to travel sooner. The night before, I wrestled with telling Sarah about my decision but instead, I took the cowardly way out and wrote her a letter explaining myself all the while feeling like a heel.

On the way out, I slipped the letter underneath her door. I shook my head at how cowardly I was being; I could face down psychopathic rapists and kill them but I couldn't face a girl or my feelings. I guessed there were some things that I couldn't force myself to be brave about. I turned on my heel and walked out the door. What was left of grandpa's knife which was the compass was in my pocket.

Relief washed over me when I heard Sarah's door open; part of me wanted to be caught and I was glad when I did. "Claude, what's going on?" she asked, still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. She accidentally kicked the folded piece of paper at her feet. "What's this?" she picked it up and read it. Her eyes opened wide and she was fully awake. "Claude, why?" she asked bewildered. She was still in her t-shirt and sweats but the fading moonlight made her look beautiful when it framed her.

"Let's go outside." I said. She was still confused and hurt but she obliged me.

"Why are you leaving Claude?" she asked when we got outside.

"It's all in my letter…."

"Fuck the letter, tell me!" I'd only heard that tone of voice when she used it on the kids, never on me. I had to admit that it made me jump.

With a sigh, I gathered my thoughts before I began. Sarah being in front of me made things a lot harder, hence why I wrote the letter. "I can't stay here Sarah, I have to go."

"Why? Why do you have to leave, what's out there that you have to go?" she asked almost pleading. I hated that she was pleading; I didn't deserve her sadness, she was too good for that.

"Vanessa's out there." I replied, the answer forthright without even thinking about it. "Sarah, I still love Vanessa. If it wasn't for her, I'd be dead."

The look on Sarah's face was incredulous. "Claude, for all you know she could be _dead!_" She put her palm to her head and sat down on a log, motioning for me to sit next to her. "Claude, you could start a new life here, safe, secure. What's going out there into God knows what going to prove?"

"I made her a promise Sarah, I can't just abandon that. I know it sounds stupid, to risk my life for a promise. I realized something the other day though; life is very short and everything we do before we die matters. Maybe, a promise kept is the most important thing in the world; maybe it's more important than we can ever know. I _have_ to try Sarah, can't you understand that? I love her too much not to try. Like I said, I know it sounds stupid."

At first, she looked nonplussed as she processed this but then unexpectedly, she smiled. "Wow, Vanessa's a lucky girl. I'd never ask anybody to do what you're doing but I have to be honest, that would be awesome if some guy did that for me." She smiled as she wiped away her tears. "I guess you're right, it does matter what you do in this life. I just wish it didn't mean you leaving." She paused for a moment and I took her hand. "I'm never going to see you again am I?"

I squeezed her hand tightly, my thumb stroking the top of her hand. "_No_, that's not true. I am going to see you again. No matter what happens, I'm going to come back someday and see you again. I'm making this promise to you now because I..." The words wouldn't quite come out. After all my talk about loyalty to Vanessa, I was about to tell Sarah that I loved her. I didn't want to feel this way but there it was. "When I make a promise Sarah, I do everything I can to keep it. If it wasn't for you, Kaylee and I would be dead I think. I owe you my life and I wouldn't want to repay you by leaving you hanging. Besides, I have nobody else to talk about Star Wars with!"

She smiled and kissed me on the cheek lightly before kissing me on my lips. It was who knew how long before we parted. "Ditto. Hopefully the new fish knows about Star Wars but I doubt it." She said with a smile and a sniffle. "I'm going to hold you to your promise. You be careful and come back Claude." She embraced me again, holding me as tightly as I held her. Neither of us wanted to let go. "You should at least say goodbye to Kaylee too." She suggested and I couldn't argue with that.

Telling Kaylee turned out to be a whole lot harder than telling Sarah. We gently woke Kaylee up and hustled her out of her room. When I told her, she threw her arms around my waist and sobbed into my stomach. "_No, don't go!" _She shrieked, fortunately muffled by her face in my shirt. "Why are you leaving?" I could feel her tears wetting my shirt up.

"Kaylee, I have to go. It's….it's hard to explain but I have to go okay? You be brave for me and take care of Sarah and the others okay?"

After a moment she composed herself but she still had trouble speaking through her tears. Can't I come with you?"

I laughed at that and shook my head. "Nah little girl, this is something I have to do alone. It's dangerous out there, you know that."

"Will you come back?" She asked, trying to fight back a whole new round of tears.

"Oh Kaylee, of course I'll come back! I promised Sarah I would and I'm promising you too. You know I always keep my promises right?" she nodded slowly and I smiled as I wiped her tears away. I let her go and turned to start walking. I felt Kaylee's hand grab mine. I turned around and gave her another fierce hug. "You have to stay with Sarah okay?"

Again she nodded reluctantly and then as an afterthought, she took off the charm bracelet she made for herself a couple of months ago and placed it in my palm. It was beautiful, a combination of multicolored beads and a silver angel that used to belong on a necklace that she found. "Here, this is for luck."

I smiled at that. "Thank you Kaylee but this is your favorite bracelet, I can't take this. Besides, I can't wear it because it's too small."

"Please take it?" she pleaded.

For a moment I paused but then I nodded. I looked at it and threaded it through the bottom of the hiltof my Katana blade. "So I never forget it or lose it." I gave her one more hug and walked back to Sarah and gave her one last kiss. "Goodbye." I said for the last time. I didn't have the heart to turn around as I rode away on the bike, I was afraid I'd never leave if I did.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

It had been about two weeks since I left Sarah, Kaylee and Ravensdale behind. It was a lonely two weeks; I knew about the utter solitude of traveling the road alone but it was now alien to me after spending time with people. I was trying to learn to embrace it again; I had no choice but to embrace it. The one groovy thing that I had going for me was that on a bike. It wasn't like it was hard to find a bike; there were thousands just lying around, I had my pick of the litter. I ate up the miles quicker than I normally would on foot and at half the fatigue.

Despite this however, the road just didn't seem to end no matter how long I rode. With each vagrant car I passed, I desperately wished for electricity to spontaneously start working again so I could get into one of the many cars I passed and _drive, _making my journey much, much easier. I might as well had been wishing for the moon.

Pondering what happened to the world helped make the time pass easier and kept me from dwelling on Vanessa and Sarah. I was studying like a demon just to get by in school; it was for minds smarter than mine to determine what truly happened. Still, that didn't mean my theories had zero merit. Personally, I thought it was aliens who did this to us but if that were so, then why? If it was for an invasion, why didn't they invade already? Was it for some sort of gigantic social experiment? But if that was the case, to what end?

I'd ponder these questions as I pedaled, stopping only to eat and relieve myself, trying to grind out as much daylight as possible. At sundown, I'd pull over to the side of the road and make camp. No matter how tired I was, I'd spend a couple of hours practicing with the Katana blade. As it proved, the blade was my savior, my life. I had to master it if I was to survive in this big bad world. Because I had training with it, I had an advantage over most people but that didn't mean I could get lazy. My left shoulder throbbed from where one of my enemies stabbed me to drive that point home. Though the wound had healed a while ago, it still hurt every now and then.

I began with the basic katas I'd been taught ever since I started taking Kendo lessons and worked my way through the advanced katas from where I left off before the Change. As my body went on automatic pilot through the motions, my mind drifted back to every encounter I'd had. I analyzed every move I made and every move my enemies made, reimagining the fight, how I would counter them if I rematched them.

My body reacted with my mind and deviated from the pre-programmed moves that built muscle memory. I was improvising on the katas now, making them much more utilitarian. Though I'd been able to adapt and use my Kendo training as a practical fighting art so far, too many of the moves were rooted for competition purposes and not life or death combat. The new moves felt sloppy, rigid at first but over time with each practice session, they'd become smoother and more fluid.

I wondered if this was how every swordmaster throughout the centuries in every part of the world felt when they reached a new stage of enlightenment. If I were playing Dungeons and Dragons with my friends, we'd call it "leveling up." Either way, I _felt _myself getting better with the sword, more sure of myself with it. Lord knows I'd had plenty of practical application with it since the Change; at least the hesitation to kill if necessary was more or less gone now.

At first there was sadness, confusion, anger and even fear when I killed my first man. The second person I'd killed, those same feelings were there but it was slightly muted somehow. The third and fourth times, the feelings had receded even more. By the seventh, I'd felt nothing but rage with some grief sprinkled in. Now, well now if I killed again and I hoped I didn't, I figured it would come as easy as breathing. I took solace in the fact that I didn't enjoy it. I figured if I didn't enjoy it, that didn't make me a psychopath. I wondered if that was what they referred to as a "crisis of conscience?" Since there were no shrinks or priests around, I had to make do with trying not to think about it too much.

My katas were finally finished and I was coated in sweat. I was breathing hard and I sat down to catch my breath. As my heartbeat slowed, I felt the chill of the night air embrace my skin. With a shiver, I huddled next to the campfire I built. I figured I'd give meditation a try as I soaked in the warmth of the fire. My sensei encouraged his students to meditate, to clear our minds and help process what we learned better. I tried it but never really took. My mind was too jumbled to properly achieve awareness and after twenty minutes, I gave up.

A growl escaped my stomach which I figured would wake the entire valley. With a grunt, I pulled out the fish that I caught a couple of days ago and salted to preserve it. I'd learned about salting fish from a book about wilderness survival after visiting a library I found in a town called Fern Hill. Like most towns I'd passed, Fern Hill was abandoned, empty, giving it the usual post apocalyptic look that I'd grown accustomed to. And like most towns I'd passed through, I got out of Fern Hill with the quickness because it gave me the heebie-jeebies. According to the map that I had, Fern Hill wasn't far at all from Tacoma and I figured that's where most of the townspeople went.

To be fair, I'd passed other travelers on the road; my journey wasn't all greenery and solitude. Like me though, they were reluctant at first to trust anybody for fear of highwaymen and other sorts of crazies that the Change seemed to breed. The little information that I was able to eke out from them before we parted ways was to stay away from the big cities, they were nothing but madhouses filled with death. The ones that weren't, well it was a crapshoot to whether government had somehow reasserted itself and got things under control or some despot gathered an army and set himself up as a feudal lord. I'd heard about things like that happening but I hadn't seen it firsthand yet.

For the thousandth time, I wondered why everybody all of a sudden reverted to their baser natures just because the lights had gone out. There wasn't much in the way of entertainment besides counting the chirping crickets so I pulled out "The Book of Five Rings" and tried to get through that for the hundredth time before I passed out.

Dawn greeted me with the sun shining in my eyes like God's flashlight. I pulled my blanket over my head to try to block out the light and groaned. With a sigh, I pulled back the blanket and resigned myself to putting some more miles toward home. Still, it was slow going getting to my feet and breaking camp. When I finally got my ass in gear and started pedaling, I estimated it was about eight in the morning.

Like every other day on the road, the scenery almost never changed as it went by. Cars weren't so distant of a memory that I didn't still miss them. As if to underscore my thoughts, I heard a loud bang and the bike started wobbling. I managed to stop before I pitched forward and broke my skull. I looked at the front tire which was deflated by a nail that punctured it. "Alas poor Gertrude, you were a good steed." I said as I saluted the fallen bike. I secured my duffel bag over my shoulder and put my Katana into my belt, Samurai style and started walking.

A couple of hours past since I left "Gertrude" lying in the middle of the road. I was maybe fifteen miles south of Fern Hill and walking along Interstate 5. There was nothing but cars sitting on the road that hadn't moved since the Change. There were some rotting corpses on the road and in their cars. I couldn't account for the corpses in their cars; it wasn't like a nuclear blast went off or anything. I figured maybe those guys were too injured to get out of their cars or something else bad like that. It was hard to believe that they just stayed in their cars and waited to die. Then again, electricity and gunpowder shouldn't have just spontaneously stopped working either. The concept of strange was these days stock in trade.

Down the road ahead of me, I could've sworn that I saw movement. I stopped in my tracks trying to decide on my next course of action. There was nowhere to go except straight until the next off ramp unless I doubled back which I wasn't willing to do. Then again, I had no idea that whoever was up ahead was hostile or not. I decided to move forward, all the while my blade at the ready.

As I got closer, the movements got more furtive but whatever it was didn't seem to react to my presence. Cautiously, I put my bag down and laid it next to a car; if there was a fight, I wanted my full mobility. Moving on the balls of my feet I stalked toward the shape; the sun glinted on the mirrors and dulled chrome of the bumpers and the resulting glare served to mask the appearance of the mysterious shape.

When I got close enough, I could make out the form of a little girl scuttling in and out of a parked station wagon. The caution fled my body and I was visibly relieved. I wondered where her parents were, since she was scuttling around all by herself. Suddenly I had flashbacks to Kaylee and became worried. "Hey!" I called out to the girl as I approached her. I figured sneaking up on her would probably be a bad idea.

My call got her attention and she stood stock still. She didn't respond, in fact, she didn't do anything at all; she just looked at me in a way that unnerved me. Looking at her, it was almost like being part of a scene in "Night of the Living Dead." That movie never failed to creep me out when I was little and the allegory was doing its job now.

Actually, my comparison should've been to Invasion of the Body Snatchers because the girl pointed at me and let out this high pitched shriek just like in the movie. It was so sudden it actually caused me to stumble back in surprise. Adult heads popping out of various cars behind her showed me the reason why. The faces were of varying shapes, ages, genders and colors. Some were extremely dirty, some remarkably clean which shocked me. _All _of them had a look in their eyes that spelled trouble for me.

One of the people, a man, started giggling evilly as he came out from behind a car. He was not too much taller than me and had the same malnourished look I'd seen of many travelers on the road. Like the rest of the group which were about six of them, his clothes were ragged and filthy. It was what was on his mouth that caught my attention; a generous amount of blood stained his mouth and chin. In fact, all of his friends had the same look except the little girl. When she smiled, she showed a row of blackened, crooked teeth.

"Don't run." The man said through his creepy giggle. It was like his words were a signal because his crew started stalking toward me slowly like how a predator walks its prey down. One of them had what I thought I saw, was some intestines in his right hand. All of them were armed with some sort of weapon. The giggler had the sharp end of a tire iron tied to a wooden pole as a makeshift spear. All of them were either chuckling or whispering or shouting epithets at me as they approached. I'd heard of people like that before but never seen them, they were cannibals but the people on the road called them "Eaters." Yes, they were much scarier than zombies because they were in _full_ control of their faculties.

"S-stay back!" I said in almost a gasp as I backed away. I couldn't exactly say that that I was terrified but there was a palpable fear as they approached. It was the thought of me dying and them consuming me or even worse, them eating me alive. The horror factor of the situation gave me complete pause for a moment but then I regained my composure. I was still scared but it was that familiar feeling I'd felt in all but the first couple of my fights. It was almost a perfect balance between fear and the determination to survive. I knew there would be no talking them out of it; I ceased even thinking about coming up with placating words to try to stall them. Instead, I drew my Katana.

I took a moment to take the terrain into consideration and weighed that against my opposition. I knew they would swarm like most gangs was wont to do but the cars in the road would help prevent a mass gang up on me which would help out immensely. What saved me in all of my fights was that I was trained and my opponents were brawlers, I was hoping that that would be the case this time around. Still, I was outnumbered six to one.

"You're going to have to work for your meal you fuckers!" I shouted as I held my Katana in the ready position. That was the entire signal they needed to charge with a shout that almost shook the cars around me. The nervous energy was there, the fear but I focused on my training and my relative combat experience, hoping it would carry me through the day. It wasn't like I had much of a choice anyway, it was fight or be devoured and I'm sure they didn't mind dark meat at all. _Ki ken tai i-chi, _which meant,Spirit, sword and body are as one; this was a mantra I chanted to myself over and over as they charged.

First up was the leader with his makeshift spear, I parried his thrust easily which confirmed my suspicion that there was no real training amongst the group, just brute force and numbers. Even though the weapon was a spear instead of a sword, it was the same kind of basic, forward thrust that I'd seen in training a thousand times before. I drew upon my _Hiki waza _or "Backward techniques." I struck with _Hiki men _or retreating head strike as I stepped out backward out of the reach of his spear. Because he was trying to stab my face, I used _Men kaeshi men, _knocking his spear to the left and downward with the flat of my blade and reversing my motion and striking at his head. My cut got him across the face, drawing a deep, diagonal gash from the top right of his head to the bottom left of his lip. He went down screaming and clutching his face.

Never stopping, I vaulted over a nearby car while the remaining numbers looked at their fallen leader in shock. Thankfully, only a couple had the wherewithal to instantly attack while the others were trying to reassess their position. It seemed like they never had the experience of losing anybody in their attacks; the experience of seeing one of their own go down at the hands of a perspective victim was foreign to them.

The first guy vaulted over the same hood I did, trying to follow right behind me. Simultaneously, he swung a makeshift Morningstar which I had no idea how he cobbled together. Swinging while in a vaulting motion made his attack awkward and since I was looking for him to do _something, _I was ready for it. I sidestepped and attacked with _Kote men do, _a combination attack that hit the hand first, the head and then the _do_ which was the chest.

He was ready for the first two strikes by virtue of his landing. I overestimated my strike causing me to miss the hand and head as he was stumbling back to recover his balance but as he was bringing his weapon to parry the third attack, I caught him full in the chest with a lateral slash. Blood geysered up from his wound as he screamed and stumbled back, clutching at the gash in his chest.

As I was turning around, the other guy was already on me. I managed to get my blade up between him and his weapon in time before he did serious damage to me. But he got in _too _close and the kitchen knife he was wielding caught me in the right clavicle, edge first slicing diagonally to the right and downward. I screamed as I stumbled back and instinctively lashed out with a basic _men_ strike.

Because his weapon was tiny and lighter compared to my Katana and there was so much power behind my swing, I easily smashed past his defenses and cleaved his head in two. The knife went clattering from his hand onto the surface of I-5 as blood spilled over his face covering it in a crimson mask of gore. The pathetic look of confusion on his face as he died struck me as odd for some stupid reason. I clutched my hand to my chest over my fresh wound.

By now, the rest of their friends had recovered from the shock of their leader dying just to see two more of their comrades go down. With a snarl, they started to charge, during this time, by no means, did I stop. I turned and ran as they were gathering themselves; they nipped at my heels the whole time. I grabbed the handle of a door and yanked while on the run and thanked God it wasn't locked. It swung open and the Eater behind me rammed into it. I heard the breath get driven from him as he fell to the ground with a thud.

In mid-motion, I stopped and thrust my blade toward the nearest enemy who was trying to flank me. The sledgehammer he wielded deflected my awkward strike but I managed to arrest the errant motion of my parried blade. The last two guys decided to be cautious and instead approach me slowly. I focused on my breathing techniques and remembered the new katas I invented and been practicing. My fresh wound was throbbing and blood was soaking through my shirt. I tried to ignore the pain, turn it off but I wasn't Reese from "The Terminator;" I couldn't just "disconnect the pain."

Still, the pain from my wound wasn't enough to make me drop my guard. I hadn't quite mastered the trick of predicting who would attack first so I decided to take the initiative. There was a tow-headed small guy, smaller than my five foot nine actually who wielded a shovel with a very visible sharpened edge. Because they were still off-balance, I attacked him first. Like I figured, he blocked my attack but it caused him to recoil from the force of my strike. I'd read that any good warrior learned to adapt and that's what I did.

My attacks would require split-second timing and I'd been practicing ever since my pitched battle with the Sinners in Ravensdale. As he was recoiling, his friend was getting ready to strike me in return but wasn't expecting me to attack him. My training in the katas took over and sidestepped and sliced at the short guy's taller more muscular friend. His pickaxe collided with the ground in a shower of asphalt as it barely missed me. His neck was wide open as he was trying to recover his heavy-ass weapon. The blade of my Katana cut into his muscular, corded neck with a two-handed backward slash. I couldn't quite cut off his head but the gash I created made his head loll to the left at an unnatural angle.

With a swift movement, I lunged backward, remembering my years of footwork training. In Kendo, it was drilled in us to always be a moving target. The best defense was to _not_ be where your opponent was. As I moved, I used _Hiki kote _which was a retreating backward strike to the hand. This time when I aimed for the hand, I connected. Unlike when I tried to decapitate the muscular eater, I actually managed to cleave through the hand of the smaller man with the sharp shovel as he was bringing the weapon up to swing at me again. I didn't cut it off but split the hand in two, sort of like a macabre, exaggerated version of the Vulcan sign for "Live long and prosper." He lost his middle finger and most of palm. He let out an agonized scream and blood gushed from the wound.

Behind me I heard the unmistakable clopping of hooves on concrete. I turned around to see a lone man on a horse. He was unremarkable looking with a white cowboy hat that had seen better days, jeans and a Washington University sweatshirt. He had rugged features that spoke to working hours on end in the sun and brown hair that spilled out from under his hat and came down to the middle of the back of his neck. In fact, I kind of mistook him for a Calvin Klein underwear model at first. What _was _remarkable was what he was wearing over the sweatshirt. A set of riveted steel rings onto a dark brown leather vest covered the sweatshirt up to the shoulders forming a suit of chainmail. On his forearms were steel bracers that gleamed in the sunlight. On his saddle was a nasty looking sword or some weapon that I couldn't determine.

The horseman picked up speed as I tussled with my foe. Apparently there was cannibal behind me that I must've missed because when I whirled around, in a blur of silvery movement, the cannibal's head came off courtesy of the horseman. I saw what he was carrying now; it was a glaive of some sort. It was crudely fashioned but very sharp and highly effective in his hands. Another attacked him armed with a baseball bat. The bat connected with the haft of glaive which the horseman managed to raise in the nick of time. Unfortunately the awkward movement caused him to lose his grip on his weapon. The glaive hit the ground.

He had great reflexes because as soon as the glaive touched the concrete, the horseman spurred his horse away from the killer's second swing, narrowly avoiding the blow. He whirled the horse around again and pulled from his belt, a sword that gleamed just as brightly as his polearm. I recognized the blade from all the fantasy books and movies I'd always read as a child; it was a longsword that didn't look like it was made up to professional quality but wicked nonetheless. He spurred his horse toward the cannibal at full gallop; the speed of the horse gave his swing added momentum which cut through the bat and into the cannibal's neck nearly three inches deep. The cannibal fell to the ground; the blood spurted out of his wound that reminded me of strawberry topping on a melted ice cream cone.

There was a scuttling of movement behind me and on instinct, I reacted. The tip of my blade was pointed at the face of the little girl who was trying to sneak up behind me with her cohort's kitchen knife. That served to distract me for a moment as the guy I hit with the door came upon me. I whirled around just in time to duck but was grazed with his hedge clippers which were his weapon. I could only imagine what he used those for. The browned blade caught the side of my head and inflicted a deep crease on it. Blood streamed down the side of my head as his weight and momentum took us to the ground.

All of my technique vanished as the dirty man fell on top of me. I used the most non-technical move in any human being's arsenal and chomped on his neck with all of his might, giving him a taste of his own medicine, the pain from my wounds driving me on. He yelled out as he reared up; this motion served to actually rip a chunk of his flesh out and got stuck between my teeth. Also, this fortunately gave me enough room to thrust my blade into his abdomen quickly five times; this was done more out of anger and pain than from trying to finish him cleanly. His blood spilled all over me as he clutched at his wound and toppled over with a sickly groan.

Adrenaline and my exertions left me gasping for air and suddenly I remembered the little girl. Whirling onto my stomach, I pointed the blade at the girl who looked stunned and scared at the turn of events. "_Stay the fuck back_!" I screamed as I quickly got to my feet, pointing my sword in her face. She fell backward to the ground screaming, her tears mixing with the dirt on her face. I was unsure of what to do at that point; I didn't think I could kill a little girl but only moments ago, she'd tried to kill me. It was against my better judgment but after seeing what happened to Kaylee so many months ago, I couldn't bring myself to kill her even though it would be like putting down a rabid dog.

Meanwhile, the man's whose face I gashed slowly gathered himself to his feet. The pain he suffered turned into anger; the scar on his face looked like a mean diagonal smile with the appearance amplified by his sneer. He screamed in impotent fury as he looked down at his fallen brethren and the horseman and I standing there, ready for action. He stared at us a while longer with that evil stare and wordlessly, he ran away, clutching at his bleeding face.

Though it seemed like a long time passed from the start of the battle to the end, in reality it only lasted maybe a couple of minutes, if that. Normal time reasserted itself and began to catch up with me. The guy I smashed with the car door staggered to his feet with a groan. A flash of inspiration hit me; I ran toward him and stabbed him in the leg. He howled in pain and fell back down to the ground. I pointed the tip of my sword at his throat and he swallowed his screaming.

"The only reason why I don't kill you right now is because that little girl can't be left alone. The rest of your friends are _dead_, I killed them. Well, me and that guy on horseback over there." I said gesturing to the armored cowboy. Blood dripped down the side of my head from the wound and I wiped it away. The wound stung like a motherfucker. "Hmm, nice shades, mind if I have them?" I said, gesturing toward the round lens sunglasses over his eyes, "John Lennons" we used to call them back home.

"Y-yeah sure, they're yours, they're a gift!" He stammered. The smell of his breath was rancid and it made my eyes water. It didn't help that his teeth were nearly black and the way they bobbed up and down when he spoke made my stomach heave a little; putting the sunglasses on helped diminish the visual a little bit but not much.

"I'm going to let you live so you can take care of that little girl even though it's against my better judgment. I suggest you change your ways and eat normal food like 'normal' people." I grimaced from the pain in my wound and thrust the tip of my blade closer to his throat. "Take her and get out of here." I said snarling from the pain. "You lost your friends, now go before you lose your _heads_."

I took the blade away from his throat and ambled out of his path. He got up gingerly and limped toward the still bawling little girl. He grabbed her by the arm and limped away. I stood there with my sword at the ready as they limped out of sight.

Holding up my left hand in greeting, I turned toward the stranger and gripped the handle of my Katana in my right hand tightly, ready to swing at the first sign of trouble. "Howdy" the stranger said with a grin and an accent right out of a western movie. "You sure that was wise letting them go like that?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm no child killer even if it is smarter to kill her." I replied, holding my bleeding head and wincing. "Look, I'm sorry I'm so curt and I shouldn't be. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead so thanks. What's your name anyway?"

"John Dawson and it was my pleasure. I don't like those Eaters anymore than you do."

"I'm Claude Freeman." I replied, my head still smarting."

"You should get that looked at you know."

"It's not that deep but it hurts." I said as I went to my duffel bag. I sheathed my sword and still kept a wary eye on Dawson as I rummaged through my stuff until I found what I was looking for. I pulled out the bottle of alcohol and a bandage, courtesy of some of the supplies I took from the school before I left.

"You're pretty good with that glaive and longsword and the armor is a nice touch. Are you supposed to be the medieval Lone Ranger or something?" I said as I poured the alcohol on my head and chest. I think the pain made me snarkier than I usually would have. I wrapped the bandages over the wounds; as I thought they weren't that deep and could do with stitches but I figured I wouldn't bleed to death if I didn't get them. I also took a little swig of alcohol, swished it around my mouth, gargled and spat it out on the ground; the taste of that guy's neck still lingered on my tongue and I suspected it wouldn't go away for some time.

Fortunately, John Dawson merely chuckled. "Hey, cost of doing business around these parts these days. Kind of suicidal to go wandering off without armor or weapons you know?" he said with his slow, relaxed drawl. "Speaking of which, you showed off some pretty good chop-saki yourself. Usually when Eaters have someone outnumbered six to one, they're as good as dead. Come to think of it, that's the best I've ever seen actually."

"I just got lucky." I said and actually meaning it. Indeed, I had improved immensely; fighting for your life and surviving each battle I figured, tended to increase one's skill level but even I was shocked that I lasted as long as I did. "You turned the tide; if it wasn't for you, I'd be a goner for sure."

He inclined his head slightly as I changed my shirt. I put on my old, black "Spin Doctors" t-shirt. Then I poured a dab of alcohol onto my blade and began wiping it down with the clean part of my ruined shirt. "Say, what're you doing?" John asked.

"Trying to keep the blade clean; cleaning it helps preserve the blade's integrity I think." I answered before sheathing my sword.

John shrugged as he retrieved his glaive from where he dropped it. He probably thought I was a neat freak or something. "Well, I'm heading into Dupont which is where I'm from; I wouldn't mind the company if you want to come along. Besides, you might want to get your wounds looked at."

I had to admit, the offer intrigued me; John was riding around in armor like a knight so it stood to reason that maybe the rest of the town of Dupont had adapted like he had. I was curious and admittedly tired of the sameness of walking the road. Besides, being on the road was a bit lonely and I figured that I too could benefit from some companionship.

"Yeah sure man." I said, probably a little too eagerly. "How far to Dupont anyway?"

"About another twenty miles from here. You can ride on the back of Thunder if you want as long as you don't bleed all over the saddle and don't feel too embarrassed about holding onto another man."

That got me to chuckle. "Well I'll do my best not to bleed all over your saddle or grope you too much."

He offered me a hand up which I took but still had trouble climbing into the saddle. It took three tries actually before I was able to get on; I couldn't even claim it was from the pain of my wounds. He saw that instantly.

"You ever been on a horse?" John asked with a wry grin.

"The last time I've been on a horse was when I was four and it was being led around by a guy in a petting zoo."

"I'll take that as a no. Just hold on and try not to fall off." I tensed slightly as we started to trot along; The horse's name was Thunder and his rhythmic movement made me feel like I was about fall off with each step. John chuckled again as he chewed on a piece of straw. "I promise I won't go too fast. So, you from Seattle?"

"Los Angeles actually" I replied, still nervous and holding on for dear life. My head ached from where I got slashed but I didn't dare raise a hand to hold it; better a gash than a broken neck I figured.

"What are you doing way out here in Washington then?"

From there, the conversation picked up in earnest. We told each other our respective stories which helped eat away at the miles. It turned out that John was born and raised in Dupont which was a small town of about 592 people before the Change. Like in most places, panic broke out and about half the population fled to the bigger cities looking for sanctuary. Now the population wavered around 100 on a really good day.

Dupont was mostly a farming community though they were growing before the Change. Because of the raiders and Eaters wandering around, the townsfolk adapted to the Change accordingly. Lack of electricity meant that the townsfolk had to completely return to their agricultural roots, which wasn't too hard of a transition for them. The people abandoned their firearms and adapted their farming implements into weapons quite easily when all hell first broke loose.

John helped worked his father's farm and was studying film production at a junior college twenty miles from Dupont before the Change. His story was something out of a TV movie. He wanted to leave town but because the farm was struggling and because of his loyalty to his family, he had no real plans of leaving, only a dream. Still, he seemed happy enough or that's what he said. He _was _studying stuff about movies so maybe he really wasn't happy but was very good at acting like he was.

When the Change came about, the town got quickly organized and John and any other able bodied man was drafted into the town militia. They were charged with the protection of the town; the militia was headed up by the town Sheriff by the name of Ross Corbett. John was on a scouting mission for supplies when he came upon me. From there, I was able to fill in the rest of the gaps.

The time and the miles passed quickly enough and soon we arrived at the town. It was like how John described it, rustic with a "big-city flair" as he called it. There was a combination of wood and makeshift metal that made up a fence which surrounded the perimeter of the town. The sight looked like something out of "The Road Warrior." The fence had to be about nine, maybe ten feet high. On top of the fence were guys dressed like John; they wore the same makeshift chainmail and had spears that looked like they were patched together from various metals in a machine shop.

"Rider comin', open the gate!" One of the sentries said as John waved at them.

"It's cool, he's with me." John said, motioning to my struggling form on his back. "He got into it with a bunch of Eaters, helped me out a lot." The sentries let us pass and John chuckled as we went by.

As we trotted down Main Street, we passed a strip mall that had been stripped for all of its valuables long ago. Not too far in the distance ahead, the town hall loomed which John said was used as the central meeting place for the townsfolk for the trading of goods and information.

I guess my imagination made me expect more hustle and bustle around the town but it was all but dead except for maybe ten or fifteen people milling about; some of the garbage cans had fires going in them which some of the people gathered around to keep warm. They were wearing regular clothes and no armor unlike my traveling buddy; I figured that they only broke it out when it was necessary which of course made absolute sense. As John and I passed, they looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and something else I couldn't quite place. Whether or not John returned their expression I couldn't say because I couldn't see his face.

Hoof-beats that was loud against the relative silence of the town echoed towards us at a steady pace. Soon, a man astride a white horse and that was clad in makeshift chainmail like John's approached us. He too held a glaive and had a fancy, beautifully made, rapier in a leather scabbard. He was big; probably about six foot three with chiseled features. The look he gave John and me was completely unmistakable; unmitigated scorn crossed his features as he reared his horse up.

"Hey Dawson, bringing home strays now?" The man said with a sneer. I was in town all of ten minutes and I already knew that I was probably going to have to kick this guy's ass.

"Paul, why don't you take a hike and calm down huh? You can't be an asshole all the time." John retorted. "We're just going to Doc Paulson's; you got a problem with that?"

Paul apparently had nothing to say because he wheeled his horse away and rode off.

"What the fuck was up with that?" I asked incredulously.

"That was Paul Gibbs; he's the son of the mayor who incidentally is in charge of this town. He thinks he's a big shot because of his dad, he's always been that way."

"Yeah, he seems like a genuine asshole." I replied as I watch Paul's figure recede into the distance.

"You should definitely stay away from that guy." He agreed. "Bad enough he has an attitude problem; he'd always been that way ever since we were kids. He's a typical spoiled brat. Couple that with the power being second in command of the militia and you've got a dangerous guy on an ego trip."

"Thanks for the advice." I said, nodding gravely.

We made it to Doc Paulson's and sure enough as John said, he was a doctor of animal medicine who pulled double duty as the town medic. He knew enough to patch wounds thanks to years of sewing up pigs and cows that got caught in barbed wire. Anything more serious than that though and people were shit out of luck. The nearest real doctor was fifteen miles away. Thanks to the Change, ten miles seemed more like one-hundred these days and by all accounts, the doctor had packed up and left to Seattle or the other big cities when things went down. Nobody was even sure if he was still alive or not.

Still Doc Paulson, the nice old man that he was, disinfected my wounds and stitched me up with a minimum of discomfort with his practiced hands. "I can't decide whether you're a brave kid or a damned fool wandering around the roads like that alone. You're lucky John found you when he did, I'd hate to think of what could've happened if he hadn't."

"Aw, 'big city' here was doing just fine before I showed up." John said with a chuckle.

I shot him a wry grin as I put my shirt back on. Over the short time we knew each other, we'd become fast friends. It was hard to believe that it took something like the end of the world for me to befriend people I would've never talked to before that. It wasn't meant to sound elitist, it was just the truth. I'm sure John probably would've said the same about me.

"Thanks again doc. I don't know what to pay you; I kinda doubt that you accept money these days, not that I have any on me anyway." I said sheepishly.

The veterinarian stroked his great white beard thoughtfully as he studied me. He was in his early sixties but had the vigor of a man half his age. I guessed working out in the country was like a fountain of youth or something or it was for him at least. His gray mane of hair on top was beginning to bald and his face had wrinkles and lines in it which I guessed came from the additional stress he had taken on from what was previously a somewhat worry free life. To be fair, the Change had that effect on everybody.

"Well son, you're right, I don't take cash or credit anymore and my time is valuable to me. But you seem to be a friend of John here and any friend of his is a friend of mine. You staying in town for long?"

"Actually I was just passing through but…."

"He's going to be staying with me and my dad for a few days isn't that right Claude?" John chimed in. To tell the truth, I rather welcomed the invitation. Sure I wanted to get to California but I would've been a fool to pass up an opportunity to rest some place relatively safe.

"What he said." I said to Doc Paulson with a smile.

"Well, tell you what I'll do. Why don't you come over tomorrow and chop that cord of wood I have in the back of the house and we'll call things even. Do you accept?"

I smiled and shook his hand. "You've got a deal Doc! Thanks for everything."

John and I left the doctor's house and night had really begun to take hold. The aspirin that Doc Paulson had given me was working its magic on my aches and pains and I felt a hundred times better.

"So I'm staying with you and your family tonight huh?" I asked John.

He chuckled as he mounted his horse. He offered a hand to me and helped pull me up onto the back of Thunder. "You really want to go wandering around after dark around here? Wasn't one brush with Eaters enough for you?"

"Touché" I replied.

"Besides, I know you've gotta be hungry. We've got fixings at the house and besides, you'll get to meet Tracey."

"Who's Tracey?" I asked. The way he said the name "Tracey" sparked genuine curiosity from me because he made it sound so….mysterious.

"You'll see."

John's farm was maybe three miles on the outskirts of the south side of town. The only farms I'd ever seen were in the movies and in books so I was unprepared for how big the property really was. Because it was so immense, at least by Change standards, John and his father had sectioned it off by quarters to make working it easier. Because it was just the two of them, they had no choice but to lighten the work load otherwise they would've worked themselves to death. As it was, it was already hard enough. The other farm hands took off for the big cities searching for help and their families according to John, leaving them saddled with all the farm work for the two of them.

The farm had been in the family for decades, passed down from John's great-great grandpa, on. There had been talks and even attempts at selling the land but the family couldn't bear to part with it. Even when John's mother passed away when he was thirteen, his dad just didn't have it in him to sell the land.

We dismounted Thunder who gave a grunt of relief when we did and John led him into the barn. I offered to help John with his horse which he gladly accepted. He laughed at my inexperience with country life as I put the saddle in the wrong place and tossed hay in every other direction except Thunder's stall. John showed me how to do those things correctly and was a great sport about it. I didn't realize that just putting up a horse was such tiring work!

After we were finished, I picked up my things and followed John into the main house. The house was much, _much _smaller than I expected considering how much land they had. It was maybe two stories but wasn't very wide. Still, it was very quaint, like something I'd seen in a Norman Rockwell painting once.

"Nice place." I offered sincerely.

"Thanks, its great isn't it?" he replied to which I nodded.

The front door opened to reveal a stunning girl of about twenty-one which was John's age. She was clad in blue jeans with one of those big belt buckles I'd seen in western movies, a black t-shirt with true-blue cowboy boots. She wasn't wearing a cowboy hat though which would've completed the look of the hot, country girl fantasy that I'd had more than a few times. Her brown hair was somewhat plastered to her forehead from sweat and she brushed the errant locks aside to reveal piercing blue eyes and a warm smile.

"John, what took you so long?" the girl said as she ran off the porch and into John's arms. They kissed each other deeply and long; I was still in shock at how hot this girl was. They must've noticed me staring because they both chuckled at once. "I'm sorry, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Tracey Newman and you are?"

"Uhh….Claude, Claude Freeman."

"Thanks for introducing us you dope!" Tracey said to John with a playful punch to his armored shoulder.

"Sorry, you know how I get around you babe, I'd forget my head if it weren't attached." He said with a bashful grin.

"That you would. What _would _you do if I weren't around?" Tracey answered back with a mischievous smirk.

"I found 'big city,' I mean, Claude on the road here fighting off some Eaters. He got roughed up a bit. The doc patched him up but I invited him to stay on with us for a few days."

Tracey turned to me and offered a very feminine hand that had seen more than its fair share of hard labor. I shook it and was surprised at her strong grip. "Well it's nice to meet you Claude. John, you stink like a horse. Why don't the two of you go wash up and have some supper with us. Your dad's in the back forty, he'll be along in a minute."

"Sounds good babe." John replied with that goofy grin one gets when one's in love. Suddenly I missed Vanessa and Sarah very much. "Claude follow me once you pick your jaw up off the ground." If my skin wasn't so dark, I would've blushed a deep, deep red.

Tracey laughed and shoved John toward the house. "Leave the poor kid be and go wash up!"

He grudgingly obeyed and went into the house and I followed him. "So that's Tracey huh? I'm sorry for staring, I didn't mean any offense. She's really pretty."

"Nah, you didn't offend anybody at all." John said with a reassuring glance. "She has that effect on everybody. Prettiest girl in five counties Tracey is, smart as all get out too. How she ended up with a lug like me is anyone's guess. C'mon, your room is here and I'll show you where we wash up."

Both of us took turns washing. It wasn't quite a hot shower, it was cold water from the pump but coupled with the fresh smelling soap, it felt great to wash the road off of me and get clean. I pulled on a fresh set of clothes from my duffle bag, some cargo pants and my "X-men" t-shirt complete with graphics of the whole team (one of my favorite shirts) and came back into the house.

John's father was there waiting for us when we entered. He looked just like John or was it the other way around? Either way, they were almost identical except for Mr. Dawson was much older. He shook my hand with a viselike grip with a smile. I wondered if everybody who lived out in the country had crushing handshakes.

We all sat down to dinner which consisted of vegetable soup and fresh milk. "This is all we can afford to eat right now; everybody's on half rations." Mr. Dawson said almost apologetically. I waved it off, showing that I understood. Even a place as organized as Dupont hadn't escaped the rigor of the Change. The food smelled so delicious that I almost tore into it at once but years of table manners drilled into me by mom, stayed my hand. Once Mr. Dawson said grace, it was then I went all barbarian on it….of course within acceptable limits.

"So, what _were _you doing out on the road alone?" Mr. Dawson said as he passed me another helping of soup which I gladly accepted. I couldn't get over how awesome the food tasted. Then again, I couldn't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal, even if it was just vegetable soup. I guessed it was because I was eating within four walls instead of under a tree for a change.

"I'm headed to California sir." I said between bites. "I…uh…I have somebody I have to find down there." Images of Vanessa suddenly flooded my mind.

Mr. Dawson nodded and took another slurp of his soup. "Well, I won't press any further about it. I've always been brought up to believe that a man's business is his own. I don't sense any troublemaking out of you and my son and I are great judges of character." The way he said it was so matter of fact, Mr. Dawson might have been discussing the weather. "We don't get many visitors obviously after the Change; most of the visitors we do get, we're too busy trying to keep them from killing _us_. But you're free to stay as long as you wish."

"Thanks sir, but I don't want to impose on your hospitality. " I said, genuinely grateful. I guess there was something to be said for country hospitality. Or was the phrase "southern hospitality?" Either way, it was awesome of the Dawsons to invite me into their home like that. I didn't even have to save anybody's life to do it this time either, actually it was the other way around, John had saved my bacon.

"Yeah Claude, lord knows we could use another hand out here." John chimed in.

"Using me for cheap labor huh?" I joked back.

"Yeah sure, as long as you take bread and water as payment." John replied. Tracey chucked him in the shoulder and got the whole table laughing. Tracey and John held hands at the table and Mr. Dawson beamed at the two of them. The feel of the room was genial and warm but despite their best efforts, I couldn't help but feel like an outsider.

It wasn't their fault in the least; it was like listening to a private joke and the joke tellers try to bring you up to speed. You could get the gist of it enough to get a good chuckle but it will never be as funny to you as to the other guys because only they _get it. _Still, for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe and relatively happy. Still, that night, I slept with my sword as usual if nothing but out of habit. I wasn't _that _far gone.

I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. It had been a few months since I slept in a real bed. Even in Ravensdale, though I was secure, I was sleeping in a sleeping bag. I felt better than I had in years. I'd forgotten what the experience was like. It was an experience that I could easily get used to again, anybody could for that matter but I knew that I shouldn't. The last thing I should get is soft considering my journey. Then again, I don't think anybody could accuse the Dawsons of being soft considering the land they have to work.

John gave me a ride to Doc Paulson's place in the morning. This time, the ride on Thunder was a whole lot smoother since I didn't have to lug my duffel bag with me, only my sword and I slung that on my back.

"You carry that thing around with you all the time?" John asked as we trotted along.

"It's my life. I'd be a fool not to, even here." I replied more gravely than I intended. "I guess It's one of those things where it's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."

My new friend nodded in understanding. "It looks funny I guess, I mean you have a death grip on the thing. But you know what? Since the Change, It's probably a good thing you do have it, _especially _around here."

I was going to inquire further but we'd already arrived. I slid off the back of Thunder and John was on his way back to the farm. I sighed as I watched his receding figure before I turned around and met with Doc Paulson.

Paulson was very old school; he didn't waste time with formalities. He showed me toward the wood pile and put me right to work. The way he looked at me, I imagined he probably figured that I was a lazy, freeloading bum. The bias definitely showed as he instructed me on how to split wood. I merely smiled as I watched. Grandpa was much like Paulson in regards to being old school so I was used to it. Grandpa had me do all sorts of outdoorsy chores when I visited him, including splitting wood. Now if grandpa had never moved to Seattle, I most likely would've never known an axe from a hole in the ground. Paulson was really surprised after I split the first three logs easily.

There was no snide remarks from him, no looks of derision, merely a "humph" of respect as he went back inside to do whatever it was that old veterinarians did. True I was no stranger to cutting wood but that didn't mean that splitting and stacking a cord of wood wasn't daunting work! I was used to splitting and stacking a small pile to bring into the house for grandpa's fireplace, not an entire cord. I'd cut a cord once but it was my grandpa and I _both _working together and that still took stacking the wood four feet high and eight feet long

Needless to say that it was an all day affair but I didn't complain; I had no right to complain after all. Besides, as sore and as tired as I was, I really didn't mind the work at all. In fact, all the chopping and stacking made me forget for a little while that the world at large was really fucked up place these days.

He came out to inspect my work and nodded in satisfaction. "You did a good job Claude." He said and shook my hand. I felt a surge of pride when I took his hand. Call it the need to please but there it was. He invited me back into his office where it was cool and I was grateful to sit down in the chair offered to me. He didn't stop there and pressed a glass of iced tea into my hands. I sucked it down so fast, the liquid looked like it teleported.

The old vet chuckled and poured another glass. "You did good work out there today Claude, I figure this makes us even for the treatments. Thank you very much."

I nodded and drained the second glass just as quickly. "You're welcome sir and thanks for the tea. Well, I guess I should get going. Thanks again." I said, putting the glass down on the desk.

"You don't have to go quite yet you know? I'm not one to just kick somebody out after they've finished a job for me. Why don't you set a spell?"

We didn't "set" but the message was received. Instead, he took me on a tour of his house/office. He had all sorts of animals from dogs to horses holed up either in the back room that served as his examination room or in the barn. He was a natural hand at being a vet; all the animals loved him, even this ornery horse named King who had a hurt foot. King lifted his leg obediently when Paulson went to examine it and then nuzzled the veterinarian for good measure.

Personally King kinda scared me but I loved looking in on the dogs and cats. I'd always dug animals and though I didn't have the natural touch like Doc Paulson had, most of the animals loved me and I loved them right back. Playing with them, like having dinner with the Dawsons, brought a sense of normalcy to my life that I was sorely missing.

After I'd finished playing with the animals, the doc and I walked back to the living room. My attention turned to the nicely adorned wall. Upon it was a beautiful compound bow, some nice looking hunting rifles; a .30-30 and 30.06 and an old school Winchester 1873. That wasn't what caught my eye however; it was the slingshot on the wall which grabbed my attention.

"I used to do a little hunting for fun before the Change, now I hunt as a matter of necessity of course. It was a lot easier when guns worked that's for sure!"

"Yeah, things are definitely interesting these days. Nice Winchester you've got there though."

"Oh you know guns?" he asked in surprise.

"My grandpa worked for Winchester most of his life. He taught me a few things."

Doc Paulson tossed an impressed nod in my direction. He noticed my eyes lingering on the sling. "Damn thing is hard to use but really effective once you've had practice. Ever use one?" I proceeded to tell him about my misadventures in the art of the slingshot. He vacillated between chuckles and outright guffaws as I told him my tale. "Yep, the same things happened to me when I first started out, I've definitely got my fair share of bruises and scrapes. I think I've got a good lead on it now though. You want me to show you a few things?"

Since John hadn't appeared yet and I was more than happy to conquer the damn thing that conquered me, I nodded eagerly. He took the sling from the wall and I followed him outside. He had me show him what I knew; I think a better term would be what I _didn't _know. Sure enough, soon I was flinging rocks everywhere but at the tree I was aiming for. Paulson even ducked out of the way of a couple of errant rocks before he stopped me.

"Watch me." He said simply as he settled himself into a stance. I took note of how he twirled the sling over his head and his release of the projectile. The rock slammed into the tree, gouging out a good chunk of bark. I whistled in amazement. "That's what you're doing wrong Claude, you're releasing too early and shooting up Creation when you do. Now you try."

I did as he commanded. I twirled the sling over my head and at his shouted command, I released. The rock didn't quite hit the mark I was aiming for but that it hit the tree at all was _amazing _progress. I couldn't believe what I did; I also couldn't believe that my problem was so simple. But I knew that anybody could get lucky once. I tried again and again, I hit the tree; missed my mark totally again but I could feel myself getting better.

John came trotting up the road after a few more minutes of flinging rocks at the tree. "Thanks again Doc, for everything." I said handing him the slingshot and shaking his hand.

He pushed the sling back into my hand. "Nah, you keep it. Consider it a gift; just promise me that you'll keep practicing okay?" I grinned like a kid at Christmas and couldn't keep the goofy grin from my face. It was funny that I wasn't even feeling the fatigue and soreness from my earlier labors. I jumped on the back of John's horse and we trotted off; I waved back at the doc, clutching my new toy in my hand. My Katana slung on my back, thumped against it with each hoof beat from the horse.

The next day I spent working on the Dawson farm. I'd meant to get up early to get some sword practice in, maybe even some practice with the sling but I was so exhausted from the day before, I was dead to the world. Even the crowing rooster failed to wake me up. John had to shake me awake. "We start work early around here 'city-boy'" he said smiling.

Never in a million years would I have _ever_ imagined farm work to be so grueling. In the movies, they make it look so easy but I guess that's why movies were movies; there were no scenes to cut to the next to make it look like a chore could be finished super quick. Mr. Dawson and Tracey were patient and I was a willing student though they laughed at my obvious "fish out of water" syndrome I had going for me. John was there in the beginning, helping me plow the back forty but then he had to leave; he had militia business to attend to.

Afterwards when the sun began to set in the west behind the mountains and tall trees, that soreness I felt at Doc Paulson's place was amplified by ten. Yet, I had to admit, as tired and sore as I was, I felt good, like I'd accomplished something. "We'll make a farmer out of you yet!" Mr. Dawson said, grinning. He clapped me on the shoulder and I winced.

A couple of days turned into an entire month. What I didn't want to happen, did, I was getting used to the routine and I liked it. I even managed to get used to getting up at the butt crack of dawn and getting some sword practice in before chores. Afterward, though I never truly got used to the farm work, it did get somewhat easer as I started learning the correct things to do. Also my wounds were healing which was nice.

Not only that, I began to think of the Dawsons and Tracey like a surrogate family. It was different from what I had with Sarah and Kaylee; that felt almost like being married with Kaylee being like our daughter. I still thought of Kaylee like a baby sister but still; not that I knew what being married was like but that was a close analog. No, being with the Dawsons was almost like having a father, brother and sister. Every time I made the comparison though, my heart ached for Sarah and Kaylee's company. And when I thought of Sarah and Kaylee, I inevitably thought of Vanessa which made my heart ache even worse. No matter how I tried to slice it, I couldn't stay forever.

One day after yet another grueling but satisfying farming session, the eldest boy of Sam Dawson came trotting up the road and Tracey greeted him, so did his father. I sat on the porch and waved tiredly. After a long and passionate kiss between John and his girlfriend, he went over and helped me to my feet.

"I know you're probably still sore from actual work 'city boy,' but how about we go into town and get a couple of drinks?" John said when we were a few miles down the road. He was still wearing his armor that made him look like a Dark Age cowboy.

"John, I'm too young to drink!"

My answer shocked John at first and then he busted out laughing. "Yeah Claude, because I'll be contributing to the delinquency of a minor if I take you drinking. Do you really think that those laws still apply these days? I was drinking six packs at your age and besides, it looks like you could use a night of fun."

It wasn't like I could say that John was far off the mark. Wandering around the state of Washington and fighting for my survival wasn't what anybody would call stress-free much less sane. I did need a little time to unwind; Mother Nature could only provide so much solace and John was also correct in that I was a city-boy through and through. I'd gotten used to being in the outdoors but it just wasn't my element no matter how much I'd get used to it.

"But I've never drank before John, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"You've never drank ever?" he asked incredulously.

"I mean I had a sip of wine once but it's not like my friends and I get wasted or anything."

He looked at his dad and girlfriend and they both merely smiled and put their hands up disarmingly.

"Claude, don't let that boy talk you into doing anything you don't want to do. But a night out wouldn't hurt you." Mr. Dawson said. "Besides, he'll keep you out of trouble.

"Better yet, you should keep _him _out of trouble." Tracey chimed in. "Count me out, I'm tired. I'll just see you guys when you get back."

John looked at me with a smug grin. "Guess you're outvoted _amigo_. C'mon, it'll be fun." It wasn't like he had to twist my arm or anything. "You don't need to bring that, we're all cool there." He said, gesturing toward my sword that was leaning against the porch.

"Like the American Express commercials, I never leave home without it!" I replied with a grin. The rest of them winced at my bad joke.

We arrived at the "Steel Horse Saloon." The place had weathered the Change well. I guess the reason was the same psychology behind the Great Depression and Prohibition, when times were truly shitty, everybody wanted…no, _needed _to get drunk every now and then. The place looked like one of those saloons I'd seen in a western so long ago, right down to the swinging doors. There was loud music and raucous singing emanating from inside along with talking at a volume just below shouting.

The smell of beer and tobacco smoke greeted me like a slap in the face. It's not like I'd never smelled those scents before but after being on the road so long, I was unprepared for the sudden assault on my senses. My eyes watered a little bit and I paused to wipe them.

"C'mon, let's grab a table." John said as he chucked me on the arm. He took off his improvised chain mail with a relieved sigh and hung it on the back of a chair. I'd never wore armor before but I could imagine how heavy it was. The room was amazingly bright with all the candles providing the illumination.

We both sat down and a waitress instantly came over. She was older, probably in her mid-forties though the stress and chaos of the Change probably didn't do her appearance any favors. Her hands were gnarled and her posture slightly stooped which told me that running the bar probably wasn't her primary job. I was still in shock that the town had a functional bar to begin with.

No later than we sat down, the drinks came to us; they were in big brown bottles that were cool yet not _cold. _If I had to guess, they were probably underground and washed off since refrigerators no longer worked. I suppose they might've had an icebox like in the old days but who knows?

"Bottoms up!" John said as he clinked his bottle against mine, making the liquid almost slosh out of the bottle. He took a long pull at the bottle; at first I was hesitant but then I did the same. The beer was sharp and bit my tongue and back of my throat but I had to admit the taste wasn't bad though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Even still, I gasped and choked from the unfamiliar sensation. John laughed and clapped me on the back to keep me from choking to death. "You broke your cherry kid!" he said as he pounded me on the back.

After I caught my breath, I was brave enough to take another swig. The second time, I still choked but it went down a lot smoother. I'd never been drunk before in my life but I knew when the room started to distort slightly from my lightheadedness, I was getting there. I found the wherewithal to decide to slow down and place the bottle on the table.

My tongue was loosened from the alcohol and just thought of a really good zinger to throw at John when Paul Gibbs and two guys I could only describe as his cronies, came ambling into the bar. The way they walked matched the theme of the bar; they looked like a trio of gunfighters ready to get it on with anybody who looked at them funny. Most of the patrons gave them a wide berth. John meanwhile, did his best not to look at them.

One of Gibbs' cronies spotted us. Gibbs and the man looked at each other and then the head of the Guard nodded at the man who came over to the table. He was an average sized guy but with muscles that looked like steel cables. The calluses on his hands coupled with the muscles spoke of hard labor even before the Change. He had blue eyes, one of which was lazy and a five o'clock shadow that was well on its way to being a full grown beard in a day or two.

"Carsen" John said nonchalantly.

"What's the matter Dawson, you too good to drink with us or what?" Carsen replied, putting his weight on the table with his hands. The table groaned slightly under the strain.

My knight-cowboy friend merely waved him off. "No offense man, but you guys tend to get a little too rowdy. I'm just trying to enjoy a quiet beer for a change. Maybe next time okay?"

Carsen scoffed rather over-dramatically and turned his attention to me. The reaction made me burst out laughing unexpectedly; I had to blame the alcohol on that one. Usually I'm smart enough to not provoke people.

"What the fuck is your problem punk?" Carsen said with malice in his voice. He reared up to his full height and flexed his corded muscles.

I'd heard about alcoholic courage; I'd seen my uncles get drunk and rowdy. They did a lot of stupid things that they wouldn't normally do when they were drinking. I never understood that until John decided to stand up in response to Carsen's challenge. It was like watching Popeye only that the alcohol was giving him strength instead of spinach.

"Seems to me that you're my only problem Carsen." John said. "Why don't you back off from my friend before something bad happens?" It looked like he had no intention of backing down from the guy. I wanted to get in a dig desperately and the alcohol was prodding me in that direction but I restrained myself.

Paul Gibbs also came over and pulled Carsen away. "Listen to the man Carsen, nobody wants any trouble here, isn't that right?" His voice sounded like how a snake's would if snakes were able to talk. John gripped my shoulder, warning me to shut my mouth.

"Yeah, that's right Paul, nobody wants any trouble." John repeated. The animosity between them electrified the room. The music hadn't quite stopped but it was noticeably softer as everyone was waiting to see if all hell would break loose.

There was something in Gibbs' eyes that I couldn't quite place, maybe it was the way he looked at me, but if I had a Spider-sense, it would be tingling like crazy. Instead of trying to make the situation worse, I fought through my alcoholic haze and said, "Yeah, no trouble over here at all."

Gibbs smile was as shady as his voice but he patted Carsen on his well muscled shoulder and the two of them walked away.

"Thanks man" I said to John when things calmed down a little bit. "It's been awhile since anybody's stood up for me."

"Don't mention it." John replied, his good natured smile coming back. Underneath that smile however was the tension from the moment.

"I've been meaning to ask" I began, slurring slightly. "What's the deal with you and that Gibbs guy? I know you said he was an asshole but it just seems….I dunno, kinda personal between you two."

John sighed as he sipped his beer; I noticed that he never took his eyes off Gibbs or his henchmen while he did it. "I told you that Gibbs was a spoiled brat right?"

"Yeah, you did."

"Well spoiled brats are used to getting whatever they want and Paul was no exception. He wants everything, even Tracey. Needless to say that this has caused some friction between the two of us."

"You mean to tell me he's after your girl?" I asked more incredulously than I normally would have been. After taking one more swig of beer, I realized how drunk I was getting and pushed the bottle away. John laughed at my state.

"Yeah you definitely can't hold your liquor can you?" John grinned. "Gibbs tried to talk Tracey up and she shot him down. He hasn't gotten over it and has had it in for me since."

I'd seen things like that happen back in school. It even happened to me and Vanessa. This one kid named Bryan Dancy who had a thing for Vanessa absolutely hated on me. We never got into a fight or anything but the animosity between us was so thick that it could be cut with a meat cleaver. I could only imagine what kind of hell John was going through being that Gibbs was the richest kid in town and captain of the local guard.

"I'm sorry to hear that man." I said, feeling genuinely bad for him.

Later, I maybe knocked back two more beers and was really good and drunk. John called me a "cheap date" and the label stuck. We even got treated to a rendition of "Don't fear the reaper" by a songstress named Gwen. It was surprisingly awesome; I never thought it couldn't be done without electric guitar but she did it justice.

The both of us stepped outside the bar with me laughing and shambling all over the road. I was feeling _good. _I never imagined getting drunk could feel so great and now I saw why so many older people looked forward to it on the weekends. I was feeling no pain, I wasn't even thinking about the past couple of months, all the fights I'd been in or anything. My mind did drift toward Vanessa and suddenly I had a longing that was only intensified by the beer swilling around my system. Even still, John being the sober one out of the two of us had the good sense to secure my Katana to my back.

My bladder was full so I went around a corner to an alley to take a leak. John was still laughing at me and my drunken antics. I was having the best piss of my life when I heard John's laughter suddenly stop. "John?" I asked slowly while zipping my pants up. It took two tries before I managed to do up my pants. The world started spinning really fast, too fast for me to handle actually and then I passed out.

Shouts were the first thing to greet me when I came to. I guess I wasn't out for too long, maybe a couple of hours or so; it was still night time and it didn't look like it was close to sunrise yet. I was just thanking God that I didn't throw up all over myself in my sleep. My head was still ringing but I managed to crawl to my feet and stumble out of the street.

What I found was the crowd from the bar beginning to break up as if they all witnessed the end of a fight. I pushed through the small but meandering crowd to find Carsen lying face down in a pool of blood in the middle of the street. My breath was instantly taken away when I saw the sight. The bile I was fighting down from earlier, rose up of its own accord and I threw up all over the cracked, concrete ground. I'd seen plenty of dead bodies since the Change; I was actually responsible for a few of them, so seeing Carsen wasn't what made me puke. No I puked because my mind began to comprehend the implications of Carsen being dead.

"Scuse' me, has anyone seen John Dawson?" I said, still drunk but with terror lilting my voice.

"Hey, you're the kid that was with John earlier right?" An old, scruffy guy said. He was dressed in a threadbare, tweed coat that had its best days before the Change and an equally beat up fedora. He kind of reminded me of pictures I saw of one of those bums that hopped rail cars during the Great Depression. The crags on his face made him seem like he'd been around during those times.

"Yeah, that's right. Do you know where he is? I kinda lost track of him."

"Oh really? So I guess you didn't hear. The boy got arrested for that guy's murder!"

That terror I felt was immediately validated at the man's words. I couldn't believe what I was hearing but I couldn't ignore the evidence in front of my drunken face. My chest wound that was stitched up a couple of days ago, suddenly ached when I thought about what was happening. Still, despite what I was seeing, it _felt _wrong. I didn't know what was going on but no matter what, I knew that I had to find John and quickly.

"Where'd they take John?" I asked the old man briskly. The drunken haze was starting to fade thanks to the sudden rush of fear and adrenaline.

"Sheriff Corbett's office of course." The man replied, slightly miffed at my tone of voice. I didn't have time to consider his hurt feelings though.

"Which way is that?"

The man pointed me in the direction of the office and without thanking him, I jogged in that direction. I was half jogging, half stumbling as I tried to maintain my balance. My mind was shooting off in a thousand directions and my footsteps matched. I tried to clear my mind but the alcohol was _not _helping things. I stopped and leaned against a tree for a moment to catch my breath and my bearings.

Thanks to the Change, my digital watch didn't work anymore. My grandpa had taught me to tell time by using the sun and stars a long time ago but I was so drunk, that exercise was hopeless. I just hoped that _too _much time hadn't passed since I was unconscious. With each step, I cursed choosing this night of all nights to get drunk.

I must've traveled about a mile and a half to get to the sheriff's office. The lamps that had once been electric globes were now torches that cast a pallor over the front façade of the office as well as the wooden sheriff's sign. I could see inside the windows and saw that the office was dimly lit inside as well, probably by only a couple of candles. I went up to the door and found it locked when I yanked on it. I pounded on the wooden door with all of my might.

Moments which seemed like forever passed until I heard the deadbolt catch. The door swung open to reveal a man in his mid-forties, dressed in a khaki uniform with a shiny gold badge on his right breast. He was lean and muscular and his arms were like whipcords. He had thick brown hair and a white scar that cut diagonally across his chin. The whiteness of his scar stood in direct contrast to his weather-beaten complexion. He wore one of those utility belts that was standard to law officers but instead of a holster for a pistol, in its place was a makeshift scabbard which held a long sword. He still kept his police baton in its traditional position. His shiny gold name plate on his left breast said "Corbett."

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing, pounding on the door at this hour?" Sheriff Corbett said with a frown that meant he wasn't in any mood for bullshit.

"Sheriff, John Dawson didn't kill Carsen." I said, my words coming out in a rush.

The way he looked at me made it look like he was a man talking to a child in condescension. "Oh really? So you know who _did _kill Carsen?"

"Well…no, but John doesn't have it in him for cold blooded murder!"

He chuckled with that same condescension and put his hands on his hips. "Well, that's a nice sentiment son but we have witnesses that said that he saw him arguing with Carsen earlier and then Carsen ends up dead. Unless you've got more than that, in jail he stays."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was still slightly drunk but even I knew, thanks to watching lots of episodes of "Law and Order" with my folks that that was about the flimsiest piece of evidence to hold someone in jail on.

"That's all you've got?" I asked incredulously. "That's circumstantial! How are you even a cop?"

"You'd better watch your tone son." Corbett replied with menace. "I don't tolerate no disrespect from _nobody, _especially not a stranger like you."

I wasn't a big fan of _his _tone myself, but his advice about cooling it was actually sound. "Can I see John at least?" The sheriff was impassive at first, still standing in front of the doorway with his hands on his narrow hips. "C'mon, please? I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's just that, John's my friend." I could tell he wasn't a big fan of mine but I think he could tell from my tone of voice that I wasn't going to move until I saw John. He nodded slightly and stood to the side. I passed him went inside. He was on my heels the whole time though as he directed me through the office toward the station's one, solitary holding cell.

Inside the cell, sat John with his head against a wall, slightly dozing. He must've heard our footsteps because he awakened with a start. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises that weren't there before I passed out. I figured he must've been worked over but good by the sheriff and probably Paul Gibbs unless I missed my guess.

"Paul!" I cried out as I dashed toward the jail cell.

"Claude? Where've you been?" John replied; his voice sounded like he was in the same kind of haze that I was just coming out of only his wasn't alcohol induced.

"I passed out man, I'm so sorry. What happened to you? How'd you end up here?"

John was visibly tying to shake out the cobwebs. When he tried to adjust his position, he held his side. He probably had a couple of busted ribs.

"While I was waiting for you, I got knocked out." He put his hand to the back of his head and when it came away, it was slightly red with blood. "When I came to, I saw Carsen lying there. I didn't kill him. I wanted to don't get me wrong, but I didn't do it Claude!"

"Why didn't he get medical attention?" I asked the sheriff sharply.

"Murderers don't get rights around here." Sheriff Corbett replied coldly.

Again, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What happened to due process? Has he even seen a lawyer?" I asked, drawing off my civics classes. Those were one of those classes that I found boring but Vanessa _and _my parents were all over me to study hard in that class. "It's important to learn the Constitution Claude. We would still be slaves if it weren't for it." My mom was fond of saying to me. Though I hadn't learned the Constitution back to front, I knew enough of it to know that what I was seeing was wrong.

Sheriff Corbett threw back his head and laughed. "Have you been asleep under a rock the past few months or something? The Constitution doesn't apply anymore son. There _is _no due process; we don't have time for it. Tomorrow I'm going to gather the townsfolk and march young Dawson here to the town square and hang him."

"You mean you're not even going to conduct an investigation?" I cried in disbelief.

"John Dawson killed Carsen in cold blood!" the sheriff barked back. We don't have the time or resources to confirm what everybody already knows. The Gibbs and the Dawsons have had bad blood for awhile now. Everybody saw Carsen and John get in each other's faces. It doesn't take a rocket science to figure out what happened next!"

I couldn't figure out how Corbett became sheriff of the town and I wanted to tell him so but I figured it was better to bite my tongue. I knew I was already treading on thin ice as it was, I didn't need for him to invent a crime to put me in the ground too. I also suspected that he was probably in the Gibbs' pocket. I found it funny that when electricity stopped working, so did decency and common sense.

"I'm gonna get you out of here John, I swear it!" I said to him.

"It's okay Claude." He replied tiredly. "There's nothing you can do. I appreciate the….sentiment though." He smiled crookedly and I could see a couple of missing teeth. Any drunkenness that I was feeling was completely gone, cooked away by my anger.

"Sheriff, what if I could _prove _that John didn't kill Carsen?" I said suddenly. I had an idea but my head still wasn't completely clear. There was something tugging at the corners of my mind that I couldn't quite remember but I knew could help John. I racked my brains trying to figure out what it was.

"If you could prove that, then maybe John Dawson won't be dancing on air but I doubt it son."

"_Don't, _call me your son." I replied. This time it was my turn to menace the sheriff. I walked past the sheriff and out the door. I looked at the North star and realized that I didn't have much time left. Sunrise would arrive soon and then John was a dead man.

I still couldn't believe what I was experiencing but in a weird, twisted sort of way, the sheriff's words held some kind of logic. Things had irrevocably changed, probably forever. There was no contact, no way of telling if the U.S. Government was still in control of the country but from what I saw, I doubted it very much. I guess justice had to make way for expediency justice considering bandits and Eaters and all sorts of other dangers were constantly lurking about. Even still, it was like Corbett was operating on the absence of logic and using expediency as an excuse to play fast and loose with the rules.

Jogging back toward the tavern, I struggled to figure out how I was going to help John. I was no detective though I'd seen plenty of cases solved on T.V. If I could find anything to help John, I was going to use it. That thought at the back of my mind was nagging me, threatening to drive me crazy if I couldn't call it up. When I arrived back at the tavern, things were still going in full swing. Carsen's body was gone and the only thing that remained was the dark bloodstain on the street which looked like a miniature lake. I suddenly had flashbacks to the night I killed the crazed man in my grandpa's house, shortly before I began my journey. I shook away the image and tried to put my head back in the game.

The same smells and sounds greeted me when I entered the bar. Like last time, all eyes were on me as I stepped through the swinging doors. The patrons turned back to their drinks and their business and I strode to the bar.

"You're back. I figured you were dead or rotting in jail with John." The bartender said as I took a seat at a stool.

"I was passed out." I replied. "Did you see what happened to Carsen?"

"Nope, I was in here the whole time. Even if I did, why should I tell you?"

"Because, an innocent man is about to be murdered for a crime he didn't commit! Don't you care about that?" I hissed in annoyance.

The bartender shrugged as he cleaned his glass. "Ain't my problem. In this town, we have only a couple of simple rules: work your hardest, mind your business and don't cause trouble. John violated the third rule and you're violating the second. I'm not trying to get in dutch with Gibbs or his son you know what I mean?"

What he said confirmed my suspicions about the sheriff though that was pretty obvious.

"Well do you know anybody who _did _see what happened?"

Again the bartender shook his head. I just stopped talking because I was wasting my breath. I guessed that was what they called the small town mindset. Still, I couldn't help but feel a little sympathetic. Nobody wanted any trouble and it seemed like Gibbs was a powerful enemy to cross. That was asking a lot from anybody to take that stance. "Well, where did they put Carsen's body? You can tell me that much at least can't you?"

With a sigh of exasperation, the bartender put down the glass he was cleaning. "He got put in the shed behind Wilkinson's house that's maybe a block away from here, east. It's too dark to bury him and Carsen's family will want a proper burial." I thanked him and headed toward the door.

Outside, the night air began to get cooler. I figured sunrise wasn't too far away now and time was running out for John. I started to head east when I felt a hand softly touch my shoulder. I jumped and my hand went to the hilt of my katana. The singer that did that awesome rendition of "Don't fear the reaper" stood in front of me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She said softly; it seemed that her normal voice matched her singing voice. I wouldn't have been shocked if she never raised her voice in her life. She was about John's age and she was pretty; she had that same type of country beauty that Tracey had, a mixture of hard and soft features. She wasn't gorgeous like Tracey though, but still pretty cute. She had mousey brown hair that came down to her shoulders in soft curls. Her eyes were the same shade as her hair and she wore loose fitting jeans and a button down, plaid shirt. Her hands were crossed in front of he and she looked slightly at the ground.

"It's okay" I said, reassuring her. "You're Gwen right? You have a very lovely voice."

She blushed a deep red; the way she looked sort of reminded me of a "Raggedy Ann" doll. "Thank you." She replied simply.

"Look, I'd like to stay and chat but I have to go."

"No, see that's just it. I overheard you talking to Sam, the bartender and I want to help."

I was startled for the second time in two minutes. "Really? I got the impression that everybody wanted to just mind their own business."

"Well, that's how it usually is." She confirmed with her soft, shy voice. "Normally, things like this don't happen but….well you see…..I've always had a thing for John and I don't want to see him dead."

"Did you see what happened?" I asked.

"No, I was inside singing." She replied with genuine regret in her voice. "I saw the two of you stumbling out and then a short time later, Carsen and Paul Gibbs."

"How much later?"

"I don't know, maybe five…ten minutes later."

Well it was something but not a lot of something. My mind struggled to put together the pieces. It seemed like Gibbs and Carsen waited for us leave the bar before following us. They caught up to John while I was passed out in the alley and a scuffle broke out. John said when he woke up, Carsen was dead. If he killed Carsen, then why didn't Gibbs kill him too? Did Gibbs knock John out and if so, why? It was all conjecture sure, but John was being held for a whole lot less.

"Maybe to frame him" I said aloud absently.

"What?" Gwen asked.

"Nothing" I replied quickly. "Look, I have to go to Wilkinson's house okay. The bartender told me it's a block east of here; will you show me where it is?" Gwen nodded and she led the way to the place.

Wilkinson's house was in as much disrepair as everything else around the town. There was an off-white, washed out picket fence that surround the property with some points of it broken off, looking like jagged teeth in the darkness. There was a gutted out house to the left of his and nothing to the right. The whole sight made for an eerie scene; I felt like a serial killer in a hockey mask was going to pop out and chop my head off right then and there. I could see no lights inside the house which meant that Wilkinson or whoever owned it was either asleep or not home.

"Thanks Gwen, I'll take it from here." I said and headed off to the fence. I heard her following behind me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming too!" she said with that mousey whisper but it had a little bit more force in it.

I wasn't going to argue with her and honestly, I was kind of glad for the company. I hopped the fence first and helped her over. We made our way to the shed which was locked with a big, thick padlock. I considered smashing it open but if we woke Wilkinson, I wasn't sure how he'd react to us breaking into his shed. Sheriff Corbett didn't like me as it was, he'd need very little of an excuse to lock me up or kill me.

Gwen could see my frustrated expression and sidled up to the door. She took out a bobby pin that was in her hair and started fiddling with the lock. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Part of having a soft voice means everybody assumes that I'm an angel." She replied simply and with a mischievous smile. Again I wasn't going to argue with her and I even smiled back with newfound respect. The lock clicked open and the sound made me jump momentarily. We both froze but once nobody came charging after us, Gwen took off the lock and opened the door.

The shed was cool, cooler than the outside and I shivered a little. I took out my lighter and lit it, giving us some light. "I know I agreed pretty quickly to help you but why are we here?" Gwen asked.

"I want to examine the body. Maybe it'll give us some clues that could help provide for John's innocence.

"You know about forensics?" she asked in shock.

"No, but it doesn't seem like anybody else in this town does. The sheriff doesn't even want to try to investigate Carsen's death. I have to do something dammit, I have to try."

Gwen shrugged and we made our way toward the center of the shed where Carsen's body lay. It was wrapped in a dark sheet and it was already starting to stink. Gwen held back slightly, covering her nose. I think everybody saw their fair share of death since the Change but even still, that didn't mean everybody had become case hardened to it. Hell, I still hadn't completely become case-hardened but I didn't flinch away from dead bodies anymore either.

"It's okay Gwen, just stay there." I said to her and then turned back toward the body. I slowly unwrapped the sheet, being careful to not set fire to it. "Hey, you think you could find me a lantern or something?" I asked her. I handed her the lighter and she nodded. I continued unwrapping, feeling my way in the dark more than relying on sight.

She returned with a lit lantern which lit up the shed much more than my lighter. She handed me back my lighter and put the lantern in my hand. I thanked her and set the lantern down next to me. I finished unwrapping the sheet and saw Carsen's corpse staring up in the darkness. It was rigid and the flesh had a gray pallor about it. I fought down the bile and took a closer look.

His face was more or less clean; there were no scars on it so it didn't look like he'd been cut. If he'd been in a fight with John, I was pretty sure John would've gotten his licks in and marked up Carsen. His head and throat were also free of signs of struggle. It seemed like the cause of death was a nice, neat wound to the heart, he'd been stabbed to death though I couldn't tell how many times. I opened his shirt which was soaked through with blood and didn't see any other marks.

"It doesn't seem like Carsen was in a fight. If so, then why aren't there any marks except the stab wound? Plus, we were pretty wasted. I don't know how well John fights while drunk but I'd been sword fighting for a while now and I can tell you that to make a wound like this requires a steady hand." I said aloud.

"Not only that, Gibbs and Carsen came out after you guys so it's not like John could've surprised him and stabbed him." Gwen chimed in.

"Because John didn't surprise him. I think Gibbs stabbed him after he knocked John out."

Gwen pursed her lips which made her look even more cute. "But wouldn't that be too simple?"

"Everyone saw John and Carsen get into it at the bar. I also remember seeing Gibbs nodding to Carsen before the shouting match. Maybe he talked Carsen into starting static with John?" I hypothesized.

She nodded, slowly warming to the idea. "It's a nice theory but how can we prove it? Nobody's going to speak up for John unless there are witnesses, especially not against Paul Gibbs."

"Too bad we don't have the murder weapon." I agreed. Suddenly, that idea that was tugging at the back of my mind came to the forefront and I had a flash of what passed for brilliance for me. "Gwen, I need you to do me a favor. How late to the patrons stay at the bar?"

"Till closing which will be in an hour, why?"

"I need you to hold them there. No matter what you do, hold them there okay?"

"Why, how?"

"Please Gwen, just do it. John's life depends on it!" She was reluctant but she nodded. I blew out the lamp and followed her out the shed.

"Where are you going?" she asked when she replaced the lock.

"Back to the Sheriff's office. Maybe I can gimmick John out of there. Also, before you go back to the bar, do me a favor and go to the Dawson house and get Mr. Dawson and Tracey."

As we left the barn and shut it tight, we saw a single light come on in the house. I guess all the activity woke Wilkinson up and he wanted to see what the matter was. We both dashed from the shed and hopped the fence; well, I hopped the fence and then helped Gwen over once I was on the other side. We were down the block by the time he came out of the house. We could hear Wilkinson with his rough and gravelly voice cursing us and promising to find whoever messed with his shed and doing unspeakable things to them.

The both of us split up in opposite directions. I could only hope that Gwen could hold the patrons there. If I was lucky I wouldn't even need them but I'd take every little resource that I could. I didn't envy Gwen's task either; short of offering to fuck them one by one, I didn't know how she'd keep them there, I could only hope that she did. The upshot was, was that I was feeling a whole lot better from my beer binge than from earlier. I'd never had a hangover but it didn't feel like I was going to get one. I'd seen the after effects of hangovers and I wasn't in too much of a hurry to experience my first one.

By the time I got to Corbett's office, the sun began to peak out from behind the mountains in the east. Even with everything that was going on, I couldn't help but admire the beauty of the sunrise; everything was awash in pink, red and yellows. That was one thing I could never get over about Washington state, the sunrises. We just didn't have them back in Los Angeles, at least not where I lived and not at the scale thanks to the clean air of Washington State. Suddenly, I missed my grandpa terribly.

Forcing my mind to get back to the here and now, I got to the station just in time to see Corbett forcefully dragging John outside. My friend could barely stand and Corbett had to keep hauling him to his feet every time he slumped to the ground. John might as well have been a sack of wheat that could be dropped and picked up at will.

He strode off to the town square, leaving me staring at their backs. I was tired of getting pissed on by this guy and seeing John being drug around like a scumbag made me madder still. While they made their way to the town square, I broke a window and snuck into the sheriff's office. I saw John's longsword, sitting on the sheriff's cedar desk and retrieved it. I looked out the window and was relieved that nobody discovered my break in. I had a feeling that after today, it wouldn't matter anyway. I followed them to the town square while the sheriff rung the bell.

"A crime has been a committed, a murder! Under the laws of this town, John Dawson, being identified as the killer, has been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on his soul." The sheriff proclaimed to the gathering people.

"Sheriff, stop this!" I exclaimed.

"Look kid, we've already discussed this and I don't have time for this anyway." He produced a brass bell and as he hauled John down the steps. He rang the bell with his free hand while shoving me out of the way roughly with his shoulder.

"John didn't do it and I have proof!" I exclaimed.

"I don't care what you've got kid. Now fuck off before I haul you in too."

"What's the matter sheriff, you afraid of being shown for the fraud that you really are?"

At that, he paused. His posture became erect, rising to his full six foot, wiry frame and pushed John to his knees.

"Kid, you must have a really hard head. You have to know what they say about people with hard heads, they usually have soft asses to kick. This is the last time I'm gonna warn you."

People slowly began to gather at the square either bleary eyed at just being woke up which there was only a few of them or happy for being distracted from their daily chores which were the majority. Mr. Dawson and Tracey also arrived. Tracey cried out in grief at seeing John in his sorry state. Mr. Dawson was visibly doing his best to suppress his fury but he was having a rough time of it. I didn't blame him at all in the slightest.

"Let my boy go Corbett, you know he didn't do anything wrong!" Mr. Dawson exclaimed, his fists clenched at his sides and shaking."

"C'mon sheriff, what're you afraid of?" I yelled so that the townsfolk could hear. "What, you have to do your murdering without being called out on it? Or maybe you're afraid that they'll figure out that you have no balls from being in the Gibbs' pocket for too long."

Corbett shoved John to the ground and whipped out his longsword, leveling it at my throat. The look on his face clearly told me what he thought about me. "Go ahead" I said, quivering but trying to put up a brave front. I could hear Gwen, Tracey and Mr. Dawson gasp. "You're really going to kill somebody who's trying to stand up for a man who can't do it for himself…. In front of _all _of these people?" Death was resting on my neck but all I could feel was animosity toward this guy. I was scared shitless sure, but I wasn't going to give Corbett the satisfaction of showing fear.

Time seemed to stand still for an eternity as the tip of the blade rested in the pit of my outstretched neck. Corbett dug in deep and nicked my skin, causing a trickle of blood to come streaming down, staining my shirt. Finally he withdrew the blade, causing another scratch which made me wince and hold my neck.

After I'd composed myself, I cleared my throat. "John Dawson did not kill Carsen as Corbett and Gibbs would have you believe. He's an innocent man!" I stated to the crowd, still holding my neck.

"You and Dawson had a beef with Carsen and then he ended up dead! What kind of proof do you have that Dawson didn't do it?" Someone in the crowd said. As I was about to answer, Gwen and the patrons made it to the town square. Also, Gibbs finally showed his face.

"Yeah stranger, what proof do you have that Dawson didn't kill my friend?" Gibbs asked nonchalantly. That slimy snake smile permeated his features which contrasted his well polished, makeshift chainmail shirt and clean blue jeans he wore.

"Carsen was killed by a single stab wound to the heart, I know because I looked at the body. John Dawson and I were drunk, really drunk when Carsen was allegedly murdered by John." I turned to Gwen and one of the patrons standing next to her. "What would you describe Carsen's state when he left the bar?"

"He and Gibbs seemed sober, at least more sober than you two were when you left." Gwen said, her voice sounding distant in the crowd. I did notice that despite how soft her voice was, there was an iron edge to it that had been added to it since we first met. I guess seeing John like he was brought out her inner tiger.

"If we were drunk and he were sober, how come John was able to get the better of him then? Anybody who's fought with a sword knows that it takes a steady hand to kill as quickly and cleanly as Carsen was."

The sheriff was the first to laugh. When Gibbs joined in the audience followed Gibbs. It was there that I saw the depths of the Gibbs family influence on the town. Gwen shifted uncomfortably in midst of the laughter. I held my ground but I knew exactly what she was feeling.

"_That's _your proof?" Gibbs asked mockingly. "Even in a court of law _before _the Change, that would be flimsy! What the hell's wrong with you man?"

"There was a witness that saw you and Carsen come out after me and John." I said, my eyes cold.

That caused Paul to hesitate for a second. The look on his face was a cross between surprise, confusion and pure hatred. "So what? So Carsen and I left after you guys did. That still doesn't prove anything. You're clutching at straws pal."

"So you're saying you didn't leave afterwards with the intention of ambushing John and I?" I pressed.

Exasperated, Corbett shoved me aside, knocking me on my ass. "Enough of this! John Dawson hangs right now." Before I could protest, a couple of the guardsmen restrained me; I was kicking and screaming the whole time.

A slow smile crossed Gibbs' face as he first looked to me and then to John. In the crowd, I could hear Tracey and Gwen starting to cry. I couldn't see Mr. Dawson but I imagined him almost completely shutting down from grief.

"Sheriff, tell you what, you should spare him only if Tracey wants him spared." Paul said, grabbing the sheriff's arm suddenly. There was no ambiguity in what he was implying, Tracey would be his and John would live. It wasn't hard to imagine that John would get offed later and quietly the first chance Paul Gibbs got. In fact, it was likely. It didn't take a rocket scientist to predict what Corbett's response was going to be.

"Well Tracey, do you accept?"

So there was Tracey put on the spot, knowing if she'd answer no, the man she loved would be killed but if she answered yes, she was condemned to a life of hell. It was like watching a real life and deadlier version of "The Princess Bride" but there wouldn't be a happy ending no matter what she chose.

The saddest thing of all was, was that nobody in the crowd was lifting a finger to help us. Logically, I knew I couldn't blame them too much; Corbett and Gibbs comprised the leadership of the one thing that kept them safe from bandits and cannibals. If positions were reversed, I couldn't say that I would be too disposed toward speaking against them either, but I _wasn't _in their position and the whole thing sickened me. I decided to choose for her.

"Paul Gibbs has the murder weapon and I can prove it!" I shrieked. I got knocked in the back of my head for my trouble by one of my captors. That calmed the ruckus slightly but not much. Still, a couple of the guards standing in the audience came forward.

"Wait a minute," one of them said. "Let's hear what the kid has to say." His stance and the look on his face said he that he was one of John's friends, probably as scared as anybody else to come forward for fear of ridicule or much worse. Another one of them and a third guard came forward as well. I couldn't tell if they were John's friends also but it was clear from their expressions that they were no fans of Paul Gibbs or the sheriff.

Again Gibbs merely laughed. "Oh really, I have the murder weapon? Why, just because you proclaim it such? C'mon, nobody's buying your bullshit anymore pal."

"What's the matter, scared?" I taunted as I held my throbbing head. "You're innocent right; you have nothing to worry about right? If I'm so wrong, you wouldn't mind a little test then would you?"

The guards were still holding me back until John's friends made them slacken up their grip. I nodded toward them in thanks and stepped closer to Gibbs. In response, he stood his ground, looking annoyed. "What kind of test are you talking about? You do realize that technology doesn't work right? You're telling me you're some kind of crime scene analyst now?"

I grinned and shook my head. "Why don't you indulge me, it'll only take an hour. If I'm wrong, John still dies and you'll probably kill me too anyway. What have you got to lose besides your limited reputation?"

Gibbs and the sheriff looked at each other with an amused glance. "Okay 'Quincy,' why don't you regale us with your knowledge then?" The spoiled smart-ass quipped.

I went to the town square and dropped John's sword on the ground and then put my sword beside it. "Okay Gibbs, your turn. Also, all you bar patrons, any weapons you're carrying, lay them down on the ground." At first the barflies were hesitant but with a nod from Gibbs and Corbett, they slowly, reluctantly, laid their weapons on the ground.

Gwen sidled up beside me and whispered a question in my ear, "What are you doing?"

I explained to her and to everyone within earshot the point of the experiment. As I did so, I was lost in my own thoughts, pulling up that memory that tugged at the back of my brain. It was actually a pleasant memory of Vanessa and I in study hall from a couple of years ago, well before the craziness of the Change. She was helping me study for an algebra test since math was my absolute worst subject. She could tell I was getting burned out so we decided to call it a night and headed off for home.

"_I got you something Claude."_

"_Oh really? Define something; is it something of cool toy variety or something that involves you and I getting _really _close to each other?" _I remarked.

She playfully punched my shoulder and pulled a book out her backpack. "_You are such a jerk sometimes." _She said with a smile that showed she was at least thinking about option B. "_No, I know you're such a fan of Asian culture so here, don't ever say I never got you anything." _

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was specifically, more into the Samurai culture and mythos more than Asian culture in general. But just the fact she got me anything at all was awesome in of itself. I kissed her long and deep. "_Thank you baby." _I replied.

It turned out that the book was more awesome than I thought it would be though it started out really slow. It was about Ancient Chinese science and philosophy. There was an excerpt about one of the first forensic scientists solving a difficult murder case. A farmer was hacked to death by a rival with a sickle. A judge in the case couldn't convict the alleged murderer because he had no evidence. So the judge snuck out and gathered all the sickles in the village, labeling them by owner and placed them under the hot sun.

The murderer was discovered when a bunch of flies gathered around the murder weapon because the flies were attracted to the scent of blood though the blood was wiped off. That was the other reason why I wiped my blade down with alcohol, to get rid of the remaining necrotic tissue clinging onto it; I didn't need flies buzzing around me. A few nights ago, John did the same with his sword after remembering seeing me do it.

Turns out, it didn't take an hour for the flies to be drawn to Paul Gibbs' rapier, it only took twenty minutes. There were gasps from the townsfolk and guard as we watched the sight unfold before our eyes.

"This is bullshit!" Gibbs exclaimed. The sheriff next to him looked just as nervous.

"No, not really, it's science. See, I kinda figured that you'd be complacent and not clean your blade. Not that it would matter because the sheriff is in your pocket; you knew he wouldn't do anything about it." I turned my attention to the sheriff. "Corbett, you're nothing but a two-bit hick with a badge and too much power. You wouldn't know real police work if it bit you in the balls." I could see Corbett squirming. "What was it you told me earlier sheriff? 'There is no due process; we don't have time for it.' Even _if _your lips weren't permanently glued to Gibbs' ass, you strike me as a lazy son of a bitch. You probably weren't a good cop before the Change, now you're just plain shit."

What was really awesome was the realization setting on the faces of the townsfolk of how bad the sheriff really was. It started as even louder gasps and then shouts interspersed throughout the crowd as some of the people began to find their voices. Courage was like a wildfire, all it takes is one little spark and watch it spread everywhere and out of control.

"How many innocent people have the two of them killed because Corbett couldn't be bothered to do his job? How many of your friends or family have died?" I said, trying to throw fuel on the fire. Those intermittent shouts now became a chorus of indignation and the guard became nervous. Tracey, Mr. Dawson, Gwen and I all smiled simultaneously.

"Just calm down everybody!" Corbett tried to exclaim but was drowned out by the shouts of the crowd chanting for John's release. I was suddenly sorry for believing that the town was full of cowards earlier.

"Let him go!" They all shouted, gesticulating wildly as they did. I think the sheriff sensed that he was about to have a riot on his hands and I couldn't say he was wrong. As much as I was enjoying seeing Corbett squirmed, I didn't want to see a riot. I'd lived through one already in 1992 and it wasn't very fun at all. The fact that the National Guard didn't exist to help maintain order didn't do anything to brighten my outlook.

Gibbs meanwhile was really sweating now. I saw him backing up and craning his neck left and right, looking for a means for escape. The guards had forgotten all about me and were trying to calm down the crowd who was on the verge of a frothing fury. Someone broke free of the crowd and threw a loose brick at the bar's window, shattering it. It was nice to see that despite the Change, human nature didn't change at all.

The sheriff forgot all about John and let him slump to the floor. "John!" Mr. Dawson exclaimed as he saw his son hit the deck, started running toward him. There was a funny expression on Gibbs' face that showed the transition from terror to anger. I saw him back toward his rapier on the ground but it didn't register to me what was going to happen because I was swept up in the wild energy of the crowd. Quick as a flash, Gibbs grabbed his rapier.

Watching the next couple of events was like watching a movie in slow motion. The elder Dawson ran toward his son, not seeing the bastard Gibbs lunging toward him. The girls and I yelled a warning to him but the words came out as fast as I was moving. I could almost count each inch of steel plunging into Mr. Dawson's chest; I and the others could only look on in horror.

Time reasserted itself with a vengeance and I saw Mr. Dawson hit the ground hard like a sack of potatoes. John tried to scream but he was too weak and his lung were hoarse. With a herculean effort of will however, he struggled to his feet and began limping toward his father. Gibbs ran off in the opposite direction with four or five of the guards who I could only assume were sympathetic to him, on his heels. The rest of us gathered around the dying patriarch who was gasping for air; blood dripped out of the corners of his mouth like a cup that was running over; his eyes denoted the agony he was feeling.

John held his dad's hand but before he could even say anything, Mr. Dawson's eyes went blank and his head lolled to the left. In the movies, deaths with loved ones are always so dramatic and touching. There was nothing dramatic or touching about this. John or his dad didn't even get a chance to say goodbye each other. I felt bad for them, I really did; they were robbed of even that one little, tiny thing. At the same time, I envied them as well, at least John had a chance to see his family before he died, I had no such luck.

"I'm gonna kill…him!" John gasped as he limped toward his sword on the ground. Tracey and Gwen got in his way. Probably under normal circumstances, John would've pushed them aside but this time, they stopped him in his tracks.

"You're in no condition to do anything John except get killed!" Tracey shouted with tears in her eyes. "C'mon, leave it baby, there's nothing you can do." She held John fiercely, as if she could hug away all the pain and terror he felt over the past twenty-four hours.

The two of them holding each other amidst the chaos looked surreal, like out of some kind of abstract painting by Salvatore Dali. In that moment, that old friend of mine, loneliness paid me a visit and made me long for Vanessa…or Sarah to hold me and try to help me forget how shitty the world had become.

"I can't let this go Tracey, I just can't." John said. I could tell he wanted to push Tracey away but couldn't bring himself to. Gwen still knelt by Mr. Dawson's body, weeping. I couldn't let this ride; The Dawsons had become like a family to me and though I didn't love Mr. Dawson quite like a father, he took me in and was good to me. That was a debt that I don't think I could ever repay.

I went to my sword and picked it up, putting it back in its scabbard. I started in the direction Gibbs went; I knew it wouldn't take me long to find him. An arm shot out and grabbed mine, it was Tracey's.

"What do you think you're doing?" She asked astonished; her tears had left marks on her cheeks.

"John's right, Gibbs can't just be let go. He's gotta pay for this." I looked at John and nodded at him. "She's also right John, you're in no condition to go after him, leave it to me."

John was reluctant at first but then finally nodded back at me. "Claude, Paul is the best swordsman around here. He was top of his class at his fencing academy back in Seattle, he's dangerous. Be careful man." I nodded back at him and jogged off after Gibbs.

Chaos was still the order of the day as I jogged down the streets. For a town with only a hundred-some-odd people, the place was a warzone. It looked even worse than it did post-Change if it could be believed. Buildings that were already gutted and somewhat refurbished were now burning. Glass and masonry littered the streets along with trails of blood from people who'd been hurt in the ensuing riot. Like the riot I'd been in, it was more about people having an excuse to act like animals than about true anger. I shook my head and jogged on.

It wasn't long before I caught up to Gibbs. Him and three of his cohorts were keeping townsfolk at bay. The thing was, they were doing a great job of it. In their armor and their skill with a sword made them nigh-invincible against the disorganized people, even when they tried to take them in a rush. I saw two guards who apparently didn't buy the Gibbs party line lying dead on the ground. The guards bought Gibbs time to slip away which he used to duck into an alley. I followed him.

"Gibbs" I said simply as I withdrew my katana and leveled it at him in a _Chudan no kame _stance. "You have a whole bunch of heinous shit you have to answer for. I just wish I could kill you more than once."

The anger that Gibbs had when slew John's dad was now directed at me. "You've caused problems ever since you got here! I'm gonna put you out of my misery once and for all you fucker." He settled into a slight crouch which I recognized as a fencing stance. Though the alley wasn't dark at all, the sunlight glinting off his rapier illuminated the alleyway briefly.

Back in the day, my fellow Kendo students and I used to theorize about what would happen if we ever fought someone with a different style of swordsmanship. I was about to find out. Vanessa and I were big fans of "Highlander the series;" she'd watch it because she was in love with Adrian Paul and I watched it because of the kick ass swordfights. I just hoped that I'd do as well as Duncan Macleod but then my brain reminded me that this was real life.

Also, some other things began to occur to me as we stared each other down. Gibbs had at least two inches on me in height which would also translate to reach and his rapier was roughly about the same length as my katana blade. The most glaring fact was that up until now, the reason why I had an advantage over everybody I'd fought was because I had technique and training and they didn't. Now I was facing down a guy who was at least as skilled if not more skilled with a blade than me. I could only hope that Gibbs was having the same doubts.

Nothing moved, no sounds were made as the two of us faced each other down, each wondering when the other would make his move. Gibbs was first, throwing a thrust which turned out to be a feint; it caused me to leap backward. I was mad at myself for flinching like I did. He could see that I was mad too because his smile was taunting. He went for another feint which made me flinch again and this time I countered with a feint of my own out of anger. He swatted my blade away with a speed I was unprepared for.

I'd seen fencers on T.V. and in the movies and seen how fast they were but I was unprepared for the speed of Gibbs' moves. The bad thing was, he probably gauged my speed based off my parry too. Maybe it was dumb but I decided to go on the offensive. I started with a _harai-waza _consecutive attack, knocking his rapier away and following up by striking toward his body or _kote. _Again, the speed of his rapier allowed him to recover and block blade while he simultaneously stepped back out of range and to the right. Still, I could see his hand shake a little from where he parried my attack. If he had the advantage in speed, I had the advantage in power and heaviness of blade, that was something at least.

It was his turn to attack now and he came at me with a vengeance. He unleashed a series of thrusts and slashes that I managed to fend off but he forced me to give ground. The training took over and I didn't even think about where I was moving the blade, I just moved it. We circled each other while gaining some distance. He came again but this time at a different angle. His blade went low toward my leg which I parried. I countered and caught him perfectly across the abdomen. I knew I hit him too because I felt the blade bite deep.

Gibbs stumbled back and instinctively put a hand to his wound. When his hand came away without blood I was puzzled. He looked at his clean hand and then he laughed. He pointed to the chainmail shirt he was wearing. His laughter took the wind out of my sails. A myth was busted in that moment; in the movies, a Katana blade cuts through _anything_ and _everything_ but in real life, I found out the hard way that that simply wasn't true. I remembered something I read about armor once, namely that chainmail was designed to stop slashing attacks.

The rapier flashed again and I reacted. I thought he overextended his thrust but as I was executing a counter strike to his head, he stepped to the left and slashed my stomach. I stumbled backward, holding my bleeding cut while waving my blade wildly to fend him off, my technique thrown off by the pain.

Our deadly dance had taken us into the street; the chaos amidst us had calmed down as everybody stopped to watch the spectacle unfolding before them. Sweat poured down my face and I tried to force myself to ignore my cut which was impossible. Instead, I focused on my breathing techniques, concentrating on slowing my heart rate down and regaining my concentration.

Gibbs wasn't going to give me the time to breathe and he came at me again. With each slash, the crowd cheered or booed, depending on who they rooted for, him or me. I did my best to parry blows. In the end, I opted for giving him some distance. I thrust my sword outward toward his head to make him think twice about pressing the attack; he wisely stepped back and was content to make a show out of flourishing his blade for our impromptu audience.

My wound felt like someone dumped lighter fluid in it and set it on fire, I hissed through my teeth as I gritted through the pain. I never considered myself "tough" and I wasn't afraid to show how much Gibbs' slash hurt. He smiled like a predator when he saw my agony and came at me. If I had time to smile I would've but I was too busy initiating my counter-attack. I'd decided to go into _Oji Waza _ or into a counterattack mindset since trying to take the initiative had only got me cut. Besides, it was my turn to gauge his prowess and show off my own.

He twirled his blade over his head like a swashbuckler out of the movies; I know he didn't learn that in fencing school, and he struck at me with another thrust toward my heart. I inhaled sharply as he came, not wanting to die but anticipating the bite of his steel in my flesh and stepped forward. Just as suddenly as the fear of getting stabbed came, it was drowned out by the adrenaline pumping through my body and swept aside. As soon as he stepped I was already striking with a _Debana Waza_ counter-attack, letting the pain of my wound spur me on. The move required impeccable timing as I had to strike the moment he stepped forward. I was a little late sure, but him getting fancy gave me the extra half second I needed to strike. I'd meant to cleave his head in two but my aim was off. Still, I managed to draw blood on his forehead which went stumbling back with a snarl of pain. Like something out of a movie, the crowd gasped.

Suddenly in that nano second of reveling in the satisfaction of my hit, I saw his weakness. It was like an epiphany to a problem I'd been trying to work out for years. From one little cut, his confidence had been irrevocably shattered. He'd been so used to being on top for so long; he was young, handsome, rich, charismatic and supremely skilled. He used those attributes to claw his way to the top of the heap in a world that had turned into a sack of shit.

He thought he was a _god _and I'd shown the world that he could bleed like anybody else. He'd be hesitant to come at me with everything he had like he'd done before. I could've pressed the attack but instead I did the opposite and held my ground. He stood in place, like his feet had been stuck in cement with a confused and hurt look on his face.

"You feel that Gibbs? That's your end approaching in more ways than one. Everybody knows you're a fake and you're not as good as you think you are, how does that make you feel?" I taunted.

"Fuck you!" He screamed, his face contorted in rage. He abandoned all of those instincts of self preservation and came at me again, this time all business. His anger didn't do any wonders for his timing as he lunged, actually lumbered toward me. His thrusts were still all business-like and well polished but now I'd gotten his timing and posture down.

I purposely kept my grin on my face; I _wanted _him to try to wipe it off. My sensei always told me that anger will make you lose a fight before lack of skill. Though I rarely ever got angry in my matches, I never understood what the hell he was talking about until now. Still, there was something to be said for anger; his attacks came in more ferociously and faster than ever. It still took everything I had to defend and I didn't have a chance to compose myself enough to counterstrike. But I _was _able to avoid his attacks.

One of his strikes actually got through my defense and got me in the shoulder. On instinct, I kicked up dust toward his face but instead of pressing the advantage, I took the opportunity to retreat while he flailed his arms in front of his face. I held my hand to my bleeding shoulder and shouted, "_Fuck" _out loud. That was my reward for getting too cocky. I glanced over at John, Tracey and Gwen as they looked at the scene with morbid curiosity. I don't think they didn't want to see me die but at the same time, they couldn't help but be curious as to what the outcome would be, good or bad. I couldn't blame them at all because a part of me was as curious as they were.

"You're good Gibbs, I see why you're in the position that you are. It doesn't matter though, you're done, end of story." I said still holding my shoulder; blood seeped through my fingers and I put my hand back on my Katana. I was doing the tough guy talk and I surprised myself at how authentic I sounded. I was definitely scared out of my gourd but the fear was muted, subdued somehow. Now the blood dripped down my arm and onto the handle of the Katana and onto the charm Kaylee gave me that was tied to the end of the handle. Funny enough, the new wound made me forget about the slash across my stomach.

He merely smiled at me with one of the creepiest smiles I'd ever seen in my life. I think he too sensed that we were nearing our end. I smiled at him as well. I wasn't trying to intimidate him however; I was smiling because I spotted another weakness of his. For all of his speed and skill, he was predictable. I motioned to him with my blade, goading him to come at me.

The time for the fancy flourishes for Paul Gibbs was gone. He fixed a steely glare at me and pointed his rapier toward my heart. Meanwhile, I shifted into a _Gedan no Kamae _stance, also known as the "Fool's guard" with my blade pointed downward toward the ground. There were no oaths or curses uttered by either of us. I was cognizant of the mixture of murmurs and fighting going on around us. That didn't matter though; there was nobody in the world that existed but Gibbs and me.

Simultaneously, we both charged. I initiated _Suriage Waza, _or a counterattack postureso it was actually an unusual move to charge but I had to throw him off as much I possibly could. His thrust was preceded by a feint at my head which made me flinch back slightly but I was ready for the attack. I aimed to parry the blade on purpose instead of attacking. I put more power into my parry than I normally would, knocking his blade away from me and to the right.

Because I put so much power into my strike, my counterattack to his head was a little slower than it normally would have been. It gave him all the time in the world to bring his sword back up to block my blade. Internally, I smiled because that was _exactly _what I was counting on. I pulled my strike at the last second so our blades tapped as lightly as possible before I swung as hard as I could at his head again.

The sound of steel crashing on steel drowned out my _kiai _shout. What was even louder was the sound of the blade of his rapier breaking in two. I always wanted to practice this cut in Kendo but never had the opportunity. Miyamoto Mushashi called it the "Fire and Stones cut." I could've kicked myself for realizing that I had the heavier blade but not using it to my advantage earlier. I could've avoided some additional scar tissue if I had. The broken piece of the blade fell to the ground with a clatter and Gibbs stumbled backward and fell on his butt, the hilt of his now useless weapon still in his hand.

Where once was confidence borne out of arrogance oozing over was now stark fear. He sat on the ground, looking up at me; my blade was leveled at his throat. The sounds of war had completely stopped now.

"D-don't kill me!" He squealed. I was still marveling at the complete one-eighty his confidence took. It was pitiful actually, so pitiful that I almost wanted to be merciful to him, _almost. _The image of Mr. Dawson's pained face as he died was seared onto my brain and I couldn't shake it. Even if I could shake the image, I didn't want to.

Still, my self-restraint was to be commended because I didn't stab him in the throat like I wanted to. "You have every single reason on this planet to get murdered but I'm not going to do it." I snarled at him. Instead of killing him, I had to settle for nicking his throat with the tip of my blade. Blood streamed down his neck and onto his armor and shirt. At that moment I had a crisis of conscience; I wondered how I could've been so weak at the moment of truth when I was all about killing Gibbs only moments before.

The crowd who had gone completely silent at this point, parted in front of me like Moses parting the Red Sea. Maybe it was a good thing that I didn't murder Paul Gibbs in cold blood I thought. I could see the contrasting looks of relief and disappointment in Tracey and John respectively. I shrugged to them as if trying to say solely with my body language that I was a lot of things but a murderer I _wasn't_, even if Gibbs above all others did deserve it.

There was a shuffling of movement behind me; armor clinked as Gibbs rose to his feet. In the movies, it would be at that point that the bad guy would shout some sort of epithet before trying to get his revenge after being defeated. This was real-life and Gibbs wasn't one of those guys. Instead, he came charging at me, his boots loud against the dusty ground. I didn't know why I sensed him coming for me, I just did. Maybe I expected him to do something as fucked up as that, maybe I'd developed a "spidey-sense" from people trying to kill me all the time. Whatever the reason, there was no hesitation when I swung my katana and separated his head from his body with one clean slice as I screamed from the effort.

Gibbs' head bounced once before it rolled three feet before it came to a complete stop in the middle of the dusty street. Anger was still etched on Gibbs' face as it stared up at me. I didn't even acknowledge anybody as I pushed past them. My strength chose that exact moment to desert me because I stumbled, nearly falling on my face to the ground. Fortunately, Gwen and Tracey were there to catch me before I hit the ground. Tracey traded me off to Gwen and helped John to his feet. There were no words spoken as we hobbled off toward home.

An aftermath of a horror is never easy to tell, especially the one John, Tracey, Gwen and I experienced. We buried Mr. Dawson that night; it was an effort getting his body back to the farm, nobody else helped us. John of course did all of the talking. When he asked us if we had anything to say, none of us did. I guessed that all of us were still too choked up over everything that happened. Nobody could blame us after all.

We found out later that Doc Paulson had been killed in the riots trying to defend his property. As a result, Gwen and Tracey had to play caretaker to John and I. It was a bit clichéd to be sure but they did a great job patching us up and taking care of us. I guess we should've been lucky that the riots didn't touch the farm, none of us felt lucky though. In fact, there was very little spoken the next couple of days.

A few days later when we all felt strong enough, we left the farm. There was too much conflict in the town, too much bad blood. The riot had left everybody splintered and loyalties were divided. As a result, there was still infighting that threatened to tear the town apart and didn't look like it was going away anytime soon. Not only that, John said that the farm brought back too many bad memories; every place he looked reminded him of his father. I couldn't blame him for how he was feeling; I torched my grandfather's house because I couldn't take being in it anymore after his death.

The wagon was loaded up and John, Tracey, Gwen and I rolled out of Dupont inauspiciously. Gwen was tagging along for the ride because….well quite frankly, she had nowhere else to go. I suspected that was probably most of the reason but it wasn't hard to imagine she wanted to stay around John. We got two miles on the outskirts of town and I had Tracey stop the wagon; John was still a bit dinged up so he let Tracey handle the reins.

"Where are you guys gonna go?" I asked as I took my katana and duffle bag off the wagon.

"Not sure." John replied.

"Well, I have a suggestion. There's a little place twenty miles from here called Ravensdale, maybe you've heard of it? Well, it's safe there, with a thriving community. I think you guys would fit in. Just tell them 'Claude sent you.' They'll be alright with that I promise you."

"That's a good idea." John nodded and then regarded me seriously. "You're not coming with us then?"

"Nah, I gotta keep going south to L.A. I have a….I have a promise to keep."

"Why don't you come with us? We can use your company to be sure." Gwen said in that soft voice of hers.

I chuckled grimly and shook my head. "I don't think wandering on the road is any place for a couple of girls. No offense. I don't mean to sound sexist or anything but this is something that I _have _to do."

"Yeah, it's so less dangerous for a sixteen year old kid." Tracey snorted sarcastically.

John leaned over and shook my hand; the sun caught on his armor and sword ever so slightly and blinded me momentarily. "Thanks Claude, for everything." He said.

"Nothing to thank me for, it's I who should thank you. You took care of me, gave me a home and made me realize that this world isn't as fucked up as I believed."

I went to Tracey and she gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I really wish you'd come with us. Since you're not….Claude, you be careful out there okay?"

Gwen was the last to say goodbye. She also hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. "Take care of yourself out there Claude. I don't know what you're searching for but I hope you find it."

Nodding, I slung my bag and sword over my shoulder and began to walk. I stopped midway and turned around. "Look, I have a favor to ask of you guys."

"Name it." John said.

"When you get to Ravensdale and you see a little girl named Kaylee, tell her I miss her and think about her often." I paused and sighed as I called up my other memory. "Also, there's a young woman named Sarah, she's the leader of the community, at least she was when I left. Can you tell her that I…."

"Yes Claude, tell her what?" Gwen asked. I knew she could see the heartache and longing in my eyes; I tore them away from her gaze.

"Tell Sarah that I'm safe and don't worry about me. Could you tell her that?"

They all nodded and with a smile, I put on my sunglasses, remembering when I took them off that Eater. The day was crisp and was already sunny. After walking a short distance, I could hear the wagon trundling toward on its way. I sincerely hoped that they'd be alright and tried not to feel guilty for not going with them. I tried to bury the longing that was tearing at my guts and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.


End file.
